Immortalibus Bella

by SL Figuhr

  As he made to stand, I smelled the elusive scent again. Before I could sense where it was coming from, an influx of men covered it up. It would be wiser to let him go, but I couldn’t help the laugh of derision slipping out. “Without the answers you seek? I can well imagine that conversation: ‘Sire, some unknown woman was in the tavern last night. But I know not her name, nor her appearance, nor should she be a loyal vassal or visitor,’” I mocked.

  He paused, one hand on the back of his seat, the other around his mug, face flushing red in rage. “I am sure the king will thank you for the tidbits you do drop.” A tension-filled silence hung in the air between us.

  Saizar swung back, trying to grab the wrist of the hand with which I was holding my mug. I let go of the mug, catching his between mine at a pressure point. “I would advise against it. I am not some weak maid you can bully.” I pressed a tick harder.

  I wondered why he would attempt such a move if he thought I was highborn. His thoughts told me such a move could get him punished if reported. It was a risky gamble; he must have been under high stress. I had a feeling he was not usually incautious.

  His eyes popped wider with unexpected pain, his free hand clenching tighter around his sword hilt. He hesitated an instant. “You dare to assault a member of the king’s guard? Shall I have my men drag you out?”

  “Self-preservation. Shall I demonstrate just how painful this little point can be? Or will you leave quietly without any other ill-advised moves?” I replied calmly, watching as he gave another look around the room.

  I used more pressure. He began to crumple. “Bitch. Whore!” he squeezed out as his free hand left his sword handle, grabbing the back of the chair. “Yes, I promise.”

  He snatched his hand back, inspecting it, rubbing the place I pinched. He stood, staring at me in puzzlement, “That move—," he began.

  “I said good night, Sir Guard. Do not make me have to tell you again.” My tone implied there were more moves where the first came from.

  “Please.” He gestured. I decided to see where a second round would take us. “I must have something to tell my men, the bartender, and His Majesty.”

  “You are the king’s enforcer, you say? I thought a while ago you professed to be with the sheriff. Which is it?” As long as he was here, he would answer questions for me if I could cajole them out.

  A smart enough answer, saying nothing and everything. “A multitalented man, to be in the elite king’s guard along with the sheriff’s . . .” I almost said “trash” but changed it. My pause said it all for me, however. “. . . men. You must be familiar with everyone who lives here?”

  “You must have a phenomenal memory.” A bit of flattery never hurt; he inclined his head stiffly. “I shall remember, should I ever need your help. You may tell the bartender your warnings have been delivered. As to the king, I am just a lone woman passing through, not worth his time.” I inclined my covered head regally before signaling for a barmaid to bring me another mug of ale.

  He scowled, looking toward a distraction at the door. The bitter, angry look on Saizar’s face changed to one of vicious satisfaction. I turned to see a beefy man with the sheriff’s group yank another man, trying to leave, over to a table. A confrontation in progress immediately quieted the entire bar in anticipation of a second match. I found out the muscleman was the sheriff. That delightful temperament must be a requirement to joining. I found the byplay between the lawman and the accused illuminating. Bar patrons cheered the announcement of an imminent hanging. So that was what passed for entertainment around here. How quaint. A mad rush for the door ensued for those who did not want to miss the fun. I watched them go, feeling the air around me displace, Saizar leaning close.

  “See what happens to lawbreakers? See what fate awaits you if you try to play a man’s game and lose?” The satisfaction in his voice would have given anyone else fright. I barely managed to keep from rolling my eyes.

  “I saw no laws being broken, only a man trying to leave. Do you always harass and torment those drinking here? It is a wonder the place does any business at all.”

  “More like you make your criminals where and when you can, regardless of actual laws. Should you not be assisting the sheriff with such heinous men? Seems a frightful dereliction of your duties.” The amusement was clear in my voice. His scowl grew.

  Very few patrons remained. I watched the bartender pick up the dropped packs of the accused, passing them to his wife. She rifled them for whatever could be taken, while he mounted the stairs, I presumed, to loot the room which the man had rented from him. This was an unexpected bit of good luck. Casually I stood, taking mug in hand, walking toward the bar. Behind me, I heard Saizar snort in disgust before he slammed out the door.

  Chapter Five

  “Peter tried to hire men to shut him up, but the bastard advisor the priest saved sent his men to bring them back in pieces. Peter’s wife still ain’t right, I heard, after she opened the sack they came in.”

  Aranthus stifled another jaw-cracking yawn as the harem attempted to play instruments and dance for the king’s entertainment. He wished it was a night the king had chosen to attend or host a party. The chamberlain, at thirty-five, felt ennui settle in. It was his twelfth year of being His Majesty’s chamberlain and slave. He could see the nights of sameness unfolding before him. I almost want a revolt to happen. Or new gossip. Anything has to be better than this.

  The fat king dozed on his throne while the heavily carved doors opened to admit a guard leading someone in. Damn it, not another supplicant come to beg for favors. For once I’d like to get to bed before the cock crows.

  As the two got closer, Aranthus could see the second person was a woman. Even he, who had seen many beautiful females pass through His Majesty’s chambers, was stunned at the vision she presented despite her unconventional clothing. Tight pants, loose shirt, corset and knee-high boots, all in deepest black. She had two sheathed swords at her waist, of which the guard should have relieved her. Her skin seemed to have an icy sheen to it, making her green-and-honey-brown eyes appear on fire. Her wide, generous lips invited a man to kiss; rich dark brown hair was set in a high braided ponytail.

  Instead of directing the woman to wait with the others, the guard brought her up the length of the hall. Their boots rang on the stone floor. Aranthus hurried down to meet them as the other supplicants began complaining in loud voices.

  “Why’s the bitch get to go ahead?”

  “I’ve been here all damn night waiting to speak with the king!” “Hell, if I let the king fuck me, can I speak with him too?”

  At the whisper of her name, she turned from examining the entertainment, piercing Aranthus with a look. A goddess enters the room. Bow before such power and glory or cease to exist. His wits were befuddled by the sight of her. “She does?" was all he could think to say. “But I have never heard of her before.” A thread of doubt in his tone.

  The guard replied, ill at ease, “She says her ancestors were once from a country nearby. She is the last of her line and wished to return to a country close to the land of her birth.”

  The chamberlain replied peevishly, “Why does she not have anyone with her? And how dare a woman dressed as a mercenary claim to be a noble!”

  Aranthus turned a petulant face to the woman, demanding, “Well, why are you dressed like . . . like . . .” He gestured with distaste to the outfit.

  I gave a sweet, slightly naughty smile, saying in a voice velvety smooth, “Forgive the intrusion, Lord Chamberlain. I lost all my retainers but one guard to the bandits, trying to come here. He is grievously wounded; if he dies, I shall have no one. It was believed if I disguised myself, I would have a better chance of living to reach a town. I am hoping your Majesty will hear my case and grant me some help, no matter how limited it may be.”

  The last thing the king needed at this hour was problems. His Majesty had woken in a bad mood. It had taken Aranthus most of the night to see the man provided with all he had demanded befor
e his good mood returned. Then again, she was very beautiful, despite her clothes, and Maceanas enjoyed such women. On the other hand, the king had just stripped a noble of title and lands and was displeased with the titled nobles who remained.

  “I would not interrupt His Majesty so late if I did not think the situation warranted it.” I tried my hardest to look apologetic. “But I was,” I hesitated deliberately, “informed I had to present myself to the king. I was led to believe it wasn’t an option.”

  Aranthus blinked. I glided forward past the guard a bit, smiling. “I felt in light of my other problems, Chamberlain, my introduction couldn’t wait. Please, what would it hurt? We would all enjoy my visit more than what is happening now.” I quirked a perfectly arched brow in a knowing manner.

  He felt everything move low down inside him as he blinked in befuddlement. The appeal reminded him of his earlier thoughts, making him forget his irritation at the interruption. He felt himself smiling back. “Who told you?”

  I arranged my face into lines of distress. “One of the sheriff’s men, as I was trying to find help for my guard. Please, I beg of you, will you ask His Majesty if he could spare me a moment of his valuable time?” I added a heartfelt expression along with gold coins, watching the emotions chase across his face.

  “Thank you, Chamberlain.” I inclined my head graciously, turning the heat of my gaze onto the sleeping body of the king as Aranthus went to wake him. This was the tricky part: slipping quickly into the last remnants of his dream.

  Garlands draped from building to building above the crowded street. Some were weeping with black armbands, but others jubilant. The king wondered what was going on. He couldn’t understand why he was standing with the commoners. He should be at the palace. No sooner than he thought it, King Maecenas found himself in the throne room. All his nobles, with their wives and children—dressed in fine black silk, velvet and brocade mourning clothing—along with the palace slaves, ringed a coffin on a wooden bier. The throne was empty. Aranthus stood next to it, weeping. In front of the seat was Lord Nicky wearing the king’s crown.

  “Damn bastard! How did he get my crown? He knows he’s not supposed to be up there. What’s going on?” He pushed forward, meaning to shout out but found no one could hear him. King Maecenas looked toward the coffin, staggering back in shock. “That’s me! What am I doing in there? I can’t be dead!”

  “Noooooo!” King Maecenas screamed in horror, but he was ignored. Frantically he pushed through the dancers to get to Aranthus. He would tell Maecenas what happened. But his chamberlain chatted cheerfully with Nicky, now the king, on matters of state.

  “How fortunate you discovered those men when you did, Majesty. Imagine what would have happened to the town if the late king had let them live,” Aranthus was saying.

  “I never did anything! I’ve protected you since you were a boy! How was I to know those merchants were assassins in disguise?” the king cried to his tormentors, who ignored him. In a rage, he turned to look out the window. Below in the courtyard, three men hung, eyes and tongues bulging out.

  The corpses spoke. “You should have given him over to us.” “You would be king still if you hadn’t told the boy about us.”

  The king gave a scream of horror, stumbling back from the window, turning back to the two men at the throne. He tried unsuccessfully to get their attention.

  Maecenas turned to see an unfamiliar, slim, beautiful woman smiling at him. She wore a tailored black silk gown. The front appeared to be on fire and a bird periodically rose from the flames.

  Maecenas turned to see they were now on a balcony. Where the town had once stood, huge pits filled with corpses. Broken hulks of ships poked up from the water of the river port. One or two grimy figures rummaged amongst the ruins of the buildings. “What? No! Where did it go? Bring it back!”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible. It’s been this way for years and years.” The cheerful tone had not abated one whit. “This is King Nicky’s work. He didn’t care for the town the way you did.”

  The king turned and saw his town. It was a marvel of stone buildings and streets interspersed with parks and greenery. Many ships lined the docks, with more moored in the river, waiting their turn. People in rich, bright clothing thronged the wide thoroughfares. Beyond the town, neat farms with patchwork fields stretched as far as the eye could see.

  He was sitting at the foot of his council table. At its head appeared the lady in her black dress with the flaming bird. She was addressing his nobles, giving orders and they listened, obeying her.

  She turned to face him. The nobles mimicked her. “You would rather be dead? It can be arranged. Listen to me, take my advice and implement my plans. I will make this the greatest nation ever known.”

  The room melted, the woman and the young man stood on a hill overlooking the darkened town. “You are one now, Majesty.” “No, I’m not! Begone, foul temptress!”

  The king stared at her. He didn’t like the look she gave him, and he had a feeling she was right. Dark clouds raced overhead; a bright, silvery moon shone down, illuminating a patch of grass where Nicky and his slave appeared. The two danced around his throne, alternately sitting on it and shouting out orders. He screamed and rushed at them, trying to pull them off, but his hands passed right through men and throne.

  The woman was standing behind the throne. She bent over until her crossed arms rested on the back of the chair and she laid her head atop them, giving a sad smile as the two figures continued to cavort. “Wouldn’t you like to be free of them, Majesty?” she whispered.

  Maecenas found himself nodding, even as he whined, “It’s impossible. Not even the merchant men who want him will get him. His slave protects him.”

  “All things are possible if you know who to ask and how. Trust me, look for me, listen to me and the kingdom will grow and prosper into a nation. Glory,Majesty—it can be yours.”

  “I am not other women. Take a chance and be great; ignore me and fall by the wayside.” Her words echoed in the darkness, changing to the sound of the king’s chamberlain calling him.

  The king awoke with a snort, gazing around blearily. Aranthus had never had this much trouble waking His Majesty before. “Sire. Sire, there is a woman here to see you.”

  Aranthus hurried to placate the king. “Yes, Sire, there is a woman claiming to be a duchess who says she was attacked during her travels to our country.”

  The young man looked petulantly at his chamberlain as he fully awoke. “I will have this interloper thrown in the dungeons. You know I see supplicants when I want to, not on their whim. Fool!”

  He looked to see who had the stupidity or obtuseness to disrupt his night. His breath caught in his throat. His eyes bugged out of their sockets. It was the woman he’d just dreamed about, only more exquisite, but what was she wearing?

  Aranthus still babbled out apologies, but the king waved a hand irritably to shut the man up. The king beckoned his guard to bring me closer. They parted as one man led me up the steps almost to the top. His harem and officials began to notice how the king couldn’t keep his eyes from me. I could feel the waves of resentment and jealousy flowing from them. It could’ve been because of how I looked; I had a sense His Majesty tried to sleep with every woman who crossed his path. Behind us, the waiting supplicants grew more strident, making the guards come to nervous attention.

  I didn’t curtsy, nor did I bow—a shocking lack of disrespect the king failed to notice but the court whispered about—as I repeated my name. The dip into his dreams had been edifying, along with two other pieces of information which, if true, could be useful. How to bring the subject up, though?

  “Duchess? I have no duke," the king flatly stated, looking toward the back of the hall long enough to scream, “Shut them up or I’ll have you all tossed in the dungeon!”

  The anger on the young man’s face grew. “Who told you to come in this manner and dressed that way? How dare you call yourself a duchess and make such wild claims? I
’ll have you tossed in—”

  “In the dungeon,” I sassed back, smirk crossing my face as the king’s eyes popped wide. “My most humble apologies, but your sheriff accosted me not long after my arrival.”

  I bowed my head in acknowledgment of his rebuke. “Perhaps it would be best if I started my tale from the beginning?” I didn’t give him a chance to reply, continuing, “I am the last living descendent of the Maison du Corbeau, who once held vast lands and wealth in the ancient city of Illthanthia. I do not know why they left, only that they did. I have wandered, living in many a land. Now I hope to settle into a permanent home. I do not know where my family’s original country lies, but I have heard tales of your kingdom which intrigued me. I traveled here to see if it would be a place I would like to become a citizen of. Unfortunately, bandits attacked my escorts and me; almost everything I own was stolen. My people, except for one, were slaughtered; even now he lays dying from wounds received trying to save me.”

  He looked at me in disgust: how dare I come to him with petty problems? I could see Aranthus smirking. The lack of concern he showed for those entering his kingdom put joy in my heart.

  “I would be forever in your debt. I do not expect you to believe without evidence. I can show your guards the place I left my dying man. One of the sheriff’s men told me you always want to know about such attacks.”

  The king’s face turned purple as those within earshot gasped, falling silent, waiting for the answer. “You . . . how dare you! There is nothing wrong with my kingdom! Insolent! Aranthus! Escort her back out, and make sure we know where to find her.”