by Martin Ash
A few faces were familiar to me; I recognized several merchants from outside Wansir. Bunting and streamers added to an air of general good-humour bordering on frivolity in the square. The impending birth of Flarefist and Sheequine’s offspring had been deemed worthy of note by more folk than I had anticipated.
I donned a jaunty cap of crimson velvet topped with a plume of bright blue feathers, and left my chamber.
~
My first task was to let it be known that I had arrived.
Contacts and acquaintances were to be renewed, to which end I would make a tour of the main centres of communal life in Ravenscrag town – the taverns and bars near and around the market square. A seedbed of political intrigue Ravenscrag was not, but opportunity may be found anywhere if one takes the time to look.
Before departing the Blue Raven, however, I went to the common-room.
I had written a number of letters in my chamber – to Lord Flarefist and Lady Sheerquine, and to one or two other persons in Ravenscrag who for differing reasons I held in almost equal high regard. Taking time for a glass of clear aquavit with Cloverron and Bris, I called messenger boys and had the letters delivered.
Two hours later the first boy found me in a seething marketside inn, one of a number where merchants, whores and tricksters complemented one another’s trades, and cutpurses bedevilled the unwary. He carried my first reply, from the castle: Lord Flarefist would receive me that very evening. I bade my associates good night and made my way through the steep, winding streets to the castle. Two assistants accompanied me, pushing a cart which bore new gifts I had chosen from my wagons.
At the castle a slouching footman led the way through dim passages to a west-facing arcade of decaying stone arches that overlooked a sunlit gravel courtyard. Pots and urns held neglected shrubs, a trickle of water seeped from a cracked, algaed fountain in the centre of the courtyard; a liver and white hound twitched fitfully in sleep on a warm step.
Lord Flarefist sat at a table in the shade of the arcade, drinking wine with two others. He looked up as the footman announced me, and gestured me forward.
‘Aha! Dimdin! You are the magician, are you not? From… from…?’
‘Khimmur, Lord Flarefist. And it’s Dinbig. Ronbas Dinbig.
‘Dinbig? Yes, that’s what I said, isn’t it?’ Flarefist was a tall man, once robust but now wasted with age and ill-health. His skin was loose, sallow and mottled, his cheeks sunken – more so than when I’d last set eyes on him. His hair was wispy and grey, bound with a circlet of yellowing silver. He looked up at me, squinting through deep grey, watery eyes. His expression and manner conveyed the disconcerting certainty of the addle-minded, but I was aware that he was not without vigour or decisiveness. He was in his seventh decade of corporeality and had been a renowned huntsman and capable soldier. His temper was legend, as was his love of good living. Virtual king in Ravenscrag, as Wansir lacked a central power, he was considered just, if a little lax. I had heard that more recently he was not always lucid and had become subject to sudden, sometimes alarming swings of mood. He seemed cheerful enough at the moment, though. ‘But you are a magician, are you not?’
‘I would not style myself a ‘magician’, Lord Flarefist, but I do have the honour of being a First Realm Initiate of the Zan-Chassin.’*(see appendix)
‘Excellent! You must entertain us with some of your tricks. We know so little of magic here. As I recall, you are a masterful juggler.’
‘Not I,’ Lord Flarefist.
‘Oh?’
‘Perhaps you are confusing me with another of your guests.’
‘Is that so?’ He turned to one of his companions, who I recognized as Irnbold, the astrologer. ‘Irnbold, what was the name of that marvellous juggler who entertained us earlier in the spring? Do you recall?’
‘I think you are referring to Linvon the Light,’ replied Irnbold, a scrawny old fellow with a face that was curiously both old and young. ‘If you recall, after his departure we were unable to locate several pieces of the Ravenscrag silver.’
‘Yes, that’s the bastard! Damn his crooked soul! Linton the Light-Fingered, indeed! A scoundrel if ever one was born. Did we ever find him?’
‘No, sir.’
Lord Flarefist peered back at me. ‘And you’re not he?’
‘Most assuredly not.’
‘Hmph! Well, don’t doubt that I’ll have his hands chopped off when I find him. He’ll toss no more balls, I can promise you that. A pity, though. He was a first rate entertainer. Played the fife, too. Are you a musician, Disbin?’
‘Dinbig, sir.’
‘What?’
‘My name is Dinbig, Lord Flarefist.’
‘Ah, good. Good. An odd name though, to my ears. Is it not?’
‘I would never presume to comment upon the nature of anything your ears might inform you of, Lord Flarefist.’
He gave a puzzled frown, then turned to Irnbold. ‘What?’
‘You asked if he is a musician,’ said the astrologer.
‘Yes, I did. Is he?’ He turned back to me. ‘Are you?’
‘I regret, I have minimal talent in that area.’
‘Ah, pity. And you don’t juggle?’
‘I do not.’
‘Well, no matter. Please, be seated. Join us in some good wine. This is a joyous occasion, and your arrival could not be more opportunely timed. You will join us as we raise our cups once more in honour of my new son.’
I threw him a questioning glance. Was the child already born?
Irnbold put me right. ‘I have predicted that Lord Flarefist’s son will be born tomorrow, in the evening.’
‘Are you confident in your precision?’
‘Oh yes,’ Irnbold nodded, but did not elucidate. We drank the child’s health. The wine, I noted, was first class.
‘The preparations have all been made!’ announced Lord Flarefist heartily. His hands rested on the pommel of a stout stick, which he raised and banged several times on the flagstone at his feet. The sound reverberated off the stone walls, disturbing the sleeping hound, which lifted its head, then, identifying the source of disturbance, let it settle back onto the step again. ‘Yes, it’s an auspicious time. An auspicious time, indeed!’
I wondered at his confidence. It was not my affair, but such a complete absence of doubt in regard to the success of the forthcoming birth was surprising. I said, I hoped not tactlessly, ‘You obviously foresee no complications.’
‘Complications? No, Bindig. Absolutely not.’ Flarefist’s watery gaze rested on me, his smile stiffening slightly. His head swayed a touch drunkenly on his shoulders. ‘I am advised by experts, you see. The excellent Irnbold, here; our revered lady of the Clear Sight, Elmag, and others.’
I glanced at Irnbold beside me. As was his wont, he was garbed in a flamboyant costume which he no doubt considered distinguishing. It fitted snugly upon his frame, accentuating his thinness. It was coloured in a pattern of conjoining red and yellow stars. Each of these held planet symbols and/or zodiacal signs. From the sleeves hung loose braids of the same material. A flared, split red cloak was draped carefully over one shoulder. Irnbold’s head was covered in a wimple-like affair, which encircled his face and sat low on his forehead. A panache of red and yellow braids sprouted from the crown and hung beside his face. I was not persuaded as to his infallibility.
Irnbold returned my look with a self-satisfied smile, raising a thick, dark eyebrow. His long nose was purple, as were his narrow cheeks, which were traced with a network of broken veins.
‘But forgive me, I am remiss!’ barked Flarefist. ‘You have not been introduced to my other guest. Good Bimbig, I do not think you have met my esteemed second cousin, Ulen Condark, Lord of Condark and all its dominions.’
The man on my other side inclined his head politely. He was fiftyish, a tall, broad-shouldered man with high cheekbones and resolute blue eyes. His fair, greying hair was trimmed in a short fringe across his forehead. I regarded him with interest.
‘Lord Condark, I am honoured.’
Relations had not always been even between Ravenscrag and House Condark. Present circumstances, I suspected, were not set to make them any easier, at least not as far as Ulen Condark was concerned. Condark and its lands and estates lay some distance to the northeast. It was a powerful house ruled by a powerful family. By collateral lineage Ulen Condark was currently set to inherit Ravenscrag upon the death of Lord Flarefist, but with the birth of Flarefist’s son his claim would be negated. I wondered how well that sat with him.
Lord Condark returned my greeting in a quiet, even voice, his smile showing even white teeth. This was a man with whom it would be advantageous to cultivate good relations.
‘And how is your august King Perminias, Dimpig?’ enquired Lord Flarefist.
‘Dinbig, sir. Perminias is king of Sirroma. I am Khimmurian. Gastlan Fireheart is my liege, and king of Khimmur.’
‘Good. I’m glad to hear it. Well, how is he?’
‘He is in robust good health, and requests that I convey to you his most cordial regards and congratulations upon the birth of your child.’ Unwittingly I had fallen into the mood of the place, offering congratulations for an event that had yet to occur.
‘Ah, how kind. And your journey here? How was it? Any encounters?’
I believed there was a slight edge to his voice. ‘Encounters? Not exactly, though I suffered an unfortunate accident only this afternoon, within sight of your town gate.’
‘Accident?’ Flarefist leaned towards me. ‘What manner of accident?’
I told him of the loss of my wagon and the gifts it contained. He settled back, thoughtful, and expressed regret. ‘But other than that, your journey was uneventful?’
‘Largely. To what kind of encounters to you refer?’
Lord Flarefist pulled a scornful face and gestured dismissively with one hand. ‘Witchery.’
‘Witchery?’
‘There have been one or two isolated incidents in recent weeks,’ Irnbold explained. ‘We’re not greatly concerned, but my lord was anxious lest rumours of it discourage guests from attending this event.’
‘In what manner has it manifested itself?’ I began, but Flarefist interrupted.
‘There is to be a Grand Banquet here at the castle tomorrow, following my son’s birth. You will attend, will you not, Bin… Bin…?’
‘Dinbig, sir. I would be honoured to attend. Might I enquire as to the health of the gracious Lady Sheerquine?’
‘Sheerquine is blooming! She is in marvellous health! Swollen to the size of two heifers, of course. Ha-ha! And currently she rests, her physician in attendance.’
‘I would convey to her my good wishes. As she is indisposed, perhaps you might….?’
Lord Flarefist nodded. I continued: ‘If it is your wish, Lord Flarefist, I will present my gifts to you forthwith.’
‘By all means!’ The old aristocrat swivelled upon his seat and gestured to a footman in the passage. ‘Have the gifts brought here.’
‘Your own gift, Lord Flarefist, is a little cumbersome to be carried to you directly. I would advise that it be taken straight to your cellars. It is a hogshead of most excellent red wine, opulent, soft and full-bodied, aged in new oak. Its character is most laudable. It was harvested at my own estate in Khimmur. Also, preserved saltwater fish, and a sack of cacao beans. I trust you will find these palatable.’
‘Most definitely, sir! You’re of generous spirit, a man after my own heart. Having suffered such trying circumstances, your gesture is doubly appreciated.’
He was right, I had been generous. The wine would have put a weight of silver in my pocket; even more so the fish and cacao beans, which were rare delicacies here in Wansir. The visit was costing me dear, but I had an eye on the future. I just hoped that in coming months or years Flarefist, or at least his wife, would be capable of remembering who I was.
My assistants brought the remaining gifts.
‘For Lady Sheerquine,’ I said. ‘I regret that it is not the offering I had intended. I hope she will consider it an acceptable substitute.’
I held up a lined velvet cloak, deep blue and trimmed with sable and lace. Again, it would have fetched a fine price from one of the ladies of Ravenscrag.
‘Excellent.’ Flarefist nodded his approval.
‘For your new son I have ordered a wardrobe of nursery clothing, fashioned from cottons and silks that I brought with me. Ravenscrag’s most skilled seamstresses are at work to complete the order even as we speak. I hope the garments will be ready for presentation to you tomorrow.’
‘My thanks to you! I say again, you are a rare and generous fellow.’
‘And finally, sir, my gift for your daughter, Moonblood.’
As I spoke I caught from the corner of my eye a small movement in the dim passage from which I had emerged into the arcade. A figure came into view, half shadow, slight and silent, and approached with tentative steps. A moment later I could positively identify the maiden in question, Moonblood, framed in the arched portal.
Had she been there in the passage eavesdropping on our conversation all along, or was it coincidence that brought her here at this moment? I watched her as she came forward to stand beside her father’s chair. She curtsied, at once self-conscious and inquisitive.
I smiled. I had met Moonblood briefly on an earlier visit, though we had exchanged no more than a few words. I found her an intriguing child. She was now aged perhaps fourteen. She was slender, almost waiflike, and carried with her an air of wistful solemnity. By all accounts she was intelligent, if a touch wilful, and showed a love of learning. By many she was considered remote and somewhat aloof.
She could not be called beautiful, but her large, clear, sea-green eyes, almost translucent pallor, and expressive lips attracted and fascinated the eye. When Moonblood was present it was difficult not to take note of her.
She had changed since I last set eyes on her. The lines of her body were softer, had begun to fill out. She wore a slightly rumpled pale green frock, against which nubbin-like breasts pressed. Still a child, she was yet on the threshold of womanhood, and was aware of and somewhat disconcerted by it.
Around her neck she wore a crescent moon pendant cast on silver on a silver chain. At her breast was pinned a brooch of unusual configuration, set with glittering gems. Her hair was unbound, long and fair, quite unlike her father’s which had formerly been deep brown, or Sheerquine’s mass of magnificent copper red. On her feet were simple green slippers.
‘Moonblood,’ said her father with a slanting grin. ‘You have arrived at a propitious moment, perhaps not entirely by chance?’
Twin points of colour blossomed on the girl’s pale cheeks. She compressed her lips and cast her eyes down.
‘Good day, Lady Moonblood,’ I said. ‘It is a pleasure to see you again.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ She looked towards me but could not meet my eyes. She put her hands behind her back and stood awkwardly. Plainly she did not recall me.
‘And are you happy at the thought of the baby brother you are soon to have for company?’
Intent, wistful. Then a dimpled smile and her green eyes met mine, shining, her expression both sweet and grave. ‘I am.’
I took a bundle bound in cloth from my assistant and carefully unwrapped it. ‘This is for you, with my compliments.’
I observed Moonblood’s face as I peeled away the last layer of cloth. The present was a doll, brought from Twalinieh in Kemahamek. It was carved in painted wood and dressed in traditional Kemahamek costume, with moveable joints on arms, legs and neck. It was the one original gift to have survived the accident that afternoon. It had been carried in another wagon, there being no space in the chest that had contained the other gifts.
A puzzled frown had crept onto Moonblood’s brow as she watched. It vanished as she set eyes on the doll. Her eyes widened and a delighted smile leapt spontaneously onto her face. Animated, she reached forward to take the doll. ‘Oh, sir, it is beautif
ul! Thank you. Thank you.’
‘What will you call it?’
Moonblood’s eyes lifted towards the sky and she held her lower lip with her teeth in a moment of concentration, clutching the doll to her breast. ‘Kesanna.’
‘A lovely name. Is there a reason?’
‘I know a story about a young maiden called Kesanna, who goes alone into the forest one night and is taken prisoner by an ogre.’
‘What a sorry fate! Does she escape?’
‘She runs away, and meets a young vagabond knight called Sir Esler, who slays the ogre. They have many adventures together and eventually Kesanna returns to her home where she discovers she is a princess. She marries Sir Esler and becomes queen.’
‘A charming tale, and a fitting name for your new doll.’
Then a distant, somewhat disconsolate look clouded Moonblood’s face. After a moment’s reflection she said, ‘But no, I won’t call her Kesanna. She shall be Misha, after my little sister who died when she was a tiny baby. Oh, Rogue!’ Moonblood cried out, addressing the old hound which had woken up and ambled across to greet her, his tail swaying, snuffling at her waist. She crouched down to ruffle his head. ‘Rogue, look. Say hello to Misha.’
The dog briefly sniffed the doll, the turned back to his mistress and licked her face. She giggled.
‘Father, may I take Misha to my chamber now?’
Flarefist nodded with an indulgent smile. Moonblood curtsied, flashed another shy smile at me, and turned. I watched her as she skipped away.
A steward brought lanterns, for the sun had now settled behind the crags. This was the first night of darkmoon, and the darkness gathered quickly.
Chapter Three