Borric pushed himself past Ghuda, shoving the mercenary’s dirk point down in a clear message not to start trouble. Glancing over his shoulder, Borric said, “City watch! Trying to break in that door.”
He slid past the first man, just as the thieves outside obliged by hitting the door, causing the chair to move a foot.
“Those thieving bastards!” said the first bruiser. “We’re paid up this month.”
Borric gave the man a friendly shove toward the door, saying, “The greedy scum are trying to shake you down for more.” As the second bruiser sought to hold on to Borric, the Prince grabbed that man’s elbow and turned him after the first. “There’s ten of them out there, armed! They claim there’s a Jubilee surcharge you haven’t paid.”
By now several clients of the establishment were opening doors and peeking into the halls to see what was happening. At sight of armed men, several doors were slammed, then one girl screamed, and the panic was on.
The third bruiser said, “Wait a minute, you,” to Borric and took a swipe with his club.
Borric barely got his left arm up in time, and took the blow on his left bracer, but the shock still numbed his arm to the elbow. Thinking of nothing else to do, the Prince shouted, “Raid!” at the top of his lungs, and every door in the hall flew open. The third bruiser tried to take another swipe at Borric, but Ghuda struck him behind the ear with the hilt of his dirk, stunning the man.
Borric shoved the third bruiser hard into a fat merchant attempting to leave with his clothing in his hands, shouting at the merchant, “It’s the girl’s father! He’s come to kill you, man!”
The merchant’s eyes widened in horror, and he dashed through the outside door, still nude and holding his robes in a bundle. A sleepy-looking woman easily in her forties stood in the door, saying, “My father?”
At that moment, Suli shouted, “City watch!” as loud as he could.
Then the rear door flew open and the thieves barged in, collided with naked girls and boys, drugged men, and two very angry bruisers. The commotion in the hall was redoubled with another pair of large men appeared at the top of the hall, demanding to know what was going on. Borric shouted, “Religious fanatics! Trying to free your slave girls and boys. Your men are being attacked, back there. Help them!”
Somehow, Ghuda, Suli, and Nakor extricated themselves from the confusion in the hall and bolted for the entry of the building. The nude merchant running down the street had piqued the curiosity of the city watch, and two armed guardians of the peace were standing before the door as Borric pulled it open. Without hesitation he said, “Oh, sirs! It’s horrible! The house slaves have revolted and are killing the customers. They’re crazed on drugs and their strength is superhuman. Please, you must send for help!”
One guardsman pulled his sword and dashed inside, while another took a whistle from his belt and blew it. Within seconds of the shrill whistle’s sounding, ten more city guardsmen were hurrying to the riot and dashing through the door.
Two blocks away, in a dark inn, Borric and his companions sat at a table. Ghuda took off his helm and almost bounced it off the table, so hard did he put it down. Pointing his finger at Borric, he said, “The only reason I don’t knock your head off now is that we’d certainly get arrested.”
“Why do you keep wanting to hit me?” said Borric.
“Because you keep doing stupid things which threaten to get me killed, Madman!”
Nakor said, “That was fun.”
Ghuda and Borric both stared at him in astonishment. “Fun?” said Ghuda.
“Most excitement I’ve had in years,” said the grinning man.
Suli looked as if he was close to exhaustion. “Master, what do we do now?”
Borric thought a moment, shook his head, and said, “I don’t know.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SNARES
ERLAND APPROACHED THE DOOR.
A dozen guards stood without, but none sought to question him about his approach to the Princess Sharana’s private quarters. At the entrance to the reception area, Erland discovered Lord Nirome, the noble who had acted as Master of Ceremonies when Prince Awari had greeted him at the entrance to the upper city.
The stout man smiled affably as he bowed, and said, “Good evening. Your Highness. Is all here to your liking?”
Erland smiled and returned the bow with a deference beyond what Nirome’s rank entitled him to, saying, “Your Keshian generosity is at times overwhelming, my lord.”
Glancing backward over his shoulder, the pudgy trueblood took Erland by the arm and said, “If I might have but a brief moment with you, sire.”
Erland allowed himself to be steered to an alcove out of view of the guards and servants, saying, “Only a moment. I would not like to keep the Princess waiting.”
“Understood, Highness, understood.” He smiled and something told Erland to beware of this friendly bungler, that no one could be this highly placed and not have some guile. “What I wished to say, Highness, is that it would be a kind and generous act, a kingly act, if you would communicate to Her Imperial Majesty your desire to see young Rasajani, Lord Kilawa’s son, pardoned for his offense against you.” Erland said nothing, and when it was obvious he wasn’t going to speak, Nirome continued. “The boy is stupid; on that point we agree. However, the fault lies not with him but with certain provocateurs in Prince Awari’s camp.” Glancing around as if wary of being overheard, Nirome said, “If I may elaborate a brief instant.” Erland nodded. Nirome whispered, “Awari is second born to Sojiana, so by rights the Princess should inherit. But it is known that many fear three generations of sitting Empresses—a patriarchal bias exists in many of the nations that make up the Empire. To that end, some misguided souls have sought to exacerbate the differences between Awari and his sister. Young Rasajani thought—or rather without thought—that by insulting you, he could show his Empress that Awari is not some weakling, fearful of the Isles simply because he is foremost in insisting peace be kept between our two nations. It was a rash and foolish act, one that really was unforgivable, but I am certain others put him up to it, thinking Awari would approve. If you could somehow find it in your heart to forgive …”
Erland said nothing for a few moments, then at last spoke. “I shall consider the matter. I will discuss it with my advisors, and if we are certain no loss of prestige for my nation is involved, I will speak to your Empress.”
Nirome grabbed Erland’s hand, and kissed his royal signet. “Your Highness is most gracious. Perhaps someday I may be privileged to visit Rillanon. When I do, I shall gladly tell all there that a gracious and wise ruler is destined to govern them.”
Erland had had about all the fawning he could stand, so he nodded and left the portly court noble, moving purposefully toward the entrance to the Princess Sharana’s suites. Presenting himself to the servant who waited, he was ushered into the receiving area—a private chamber equal in size to his father’s own audience hall in Krondor.
A young woman with a strong reddish cast to her hair—unusual for a trueblood—bowed low to Erland and said, “Her Highness requests that you join her in her private garden, m’lord.”
Erland indicated she should lead him and as she did, he found himself admiring the graceful sway of hips barely covered by the short kilt. Feeling himself becoming aroused at thoughts of this evening’s encounter, Erland focused on James’s parting words to him, just after dinner. The Earl of his father’s court had said, “Remember, like yourself, she’s destined to rule her nation, so don’t take anything for granted. She may look like a twenty-two-year-old girl, and even act like one, but she may be Empress of Kesh in your lifetime and I suspect her education is as extensive, or more so, than yours.” James had revealed an unusual level of concern, even for one as cautious by nature as he was. And he had taken the moment to tell Erland, “Be wary. Don’t be led astray by pretty promises in soft arms, my friend. There’s murder in these people as much as in the soul of any street thug in the Poor Qu
arter of Krondor.”
Reaching Sharana’s pavilion, Erland admitted he would have to work hard to keep that idea foremost in his thoughts. The Princess lay upon a pile of cushions under a silken canopy, with four servingwomen nearby to answer any call she made. Rather than the short kilt and vest he had seen her wear on public occasions, Sharana wore only a simple robe, clasped just above her breasts by a golden falcon in the same design he had seen upon the Royal Keshian standard. The robe was almost transparent and fell open in front as she rose to greet him, giving Erland a tantalizing view of the young woman’s body. The effect was considerably more powerful than the commonplace nudity in the palace. Erland bowed slightly, the deference given a host by a guest, rather than the bow of a subject to a ruler. Sharana extended her hand and he took it as she simply said, “Come, walk with me.”
Erland found his reaction upon first seeing the Princess returning. In a flower garden of exotic blossoms, she was both the most lovely and exotic. Unlike most of the trueblood women he had encountered so far, she was not lithe and long-legged, but more voluptuous. Her legs were thicker than Miya’s, but not unpleasantly so, and she was easily the most large-breasted woman he had met so far. There was an odd tilt to her nose that, combined with her full lips, gave her a pouty expression. Her large sable eyes had a slightly alien cast to them, almost like the yellow-skinned people from Shing Lai he had seen at court. Her shoulders and hips were broad, her waist narrow, and her stomach rounded in a pleasing way. Erland was finding himself totally captivated by the young woman.
When the silence became oppressive to the nervous Prince, he said, “Your Highness, are there any … unattractive women at court?”
Sharana laughed. “Of course.” Her voice was sweet and feminine and her smile brought her face alive and made Erland’s pulse beat faster. “But my grandmother has a terror of old age and death, so at her command all those not young and beautiful are relegated to the lower levels of the palace. They are there, to be sure.” Sharana sighed. “If I come to rule, I will abolish that silly order. Many fine and capable people work in obscurity, while those less gifted but fairer to look upon achieve high office.”
Erland didn’t really understand what the girl was saying. His mind was fixed upon the lovely scent of her mixing with the exotic aroma of the garden’s flowers. He said, “Uh … I noticed Lord Nirome somehow managed to stay aboveground.”
Again she laughed. “He’s wonderful. He just manages to somehow stay on everyone’s good side. He’s such a dear. Of all my uncles—”
“Uncle?”
“He’s my mother’s cousin, actually, but I call him my uncle. He’s the only one who could get me to stop crying when I was left alone as a baby. Grandmother has constantly had to scold him to do something about his love of eating and look more like a trueblood hunter, but she puts up with him anyway. I often think he’s the only one who keeps this Empire together; he really does his best to disarm potential conflicts. He’s tried to be a good influence upon my uncle Awari …” She left it unsaid that most would have considered that undertaking a failure.
Erland nodded. “Why are your uncle and grandmother estranged?”
“I’m not sure, really,” answered the girl, taking Erland’s hand in hers, a natural and unself-conscious act.
With fingers interlaced, they walked along, the girl speaking in a matter-of-fact tone. “I think it’s because Awari thinks he should rule instead of my mother, which is silly. He’s too young—he’s only three years older than me. Grandmother’s fifth or sixth husband fathered him, I think. Mother is eldest and she should be unquestioned heir, but there are some who fear the Empire becoming a matriarchy.”
Erland felt his blood pounding but he forced himself to concentrate on matters of politics, which was difficult with the scantily clad Princess constantly brushing against him. “So, ah, some of your people wish a male ruler?”
“Silly, isn’t it?” Sharana halted and said, “What do you think of my garden?”
“It’s impressive,” Erland admitted, without any flattery. “Nothing like this in the Isles.”
“Many of these blooms are cultivated here, for the Imperial gardens, and do not exist anywhere else upon Midkemia. I’m not sure how that’s done, but I’ve been told it’s so.” She reached across her own body with her left hand and squeezed his forearm, holding on to his left hand with her right. It was a familiar gesture of lovers, and Erland was both aroused and discomforted by it.
As they continued to walk through the garden, Sharana said, “Erland, tell me of your home, this legendary Kingdom of the Isles.”
“Legendary?” laughed the Prince. “To me it’s commonplace, while Kesh is the legendary land.”
Sharana giggled. “But you have so many wonders! I have been told that you have spoken to elves, and that you have fought the Dark Brotherhood. Is this true?”
Erland himself had never spoken to elves or fought the Brotherhood of the Dark Path, as most people referred to the moredhel—the dark elves—but he decided it wouldn’t hurt to embellish the truth a bit. He had fought goblins at Highcastle and they were the next best thing.
He spoke a bit and found Sharana to be fascinated by his stories, or at least give a convincing performance.
After a while, they had circled the garden and returned to Sharana’s pavilion. Sharana indicated the large bed outside her sleeping quarters. “I prefer sleeping under the stars most nights during the summer. The palace holds the heat.”
Erland agreed. “It takes some getting used to. Having the pool close by helps. I’ve grown quite accustomed to taking long baths before retiring.”
Sharana giggled as a servant pulled aside the gossamer hangings that protected the sleeping pavilion from flying night insects. “So Miya told me.” Erland felt himself blush as Sharana said, “She said that you are quite … gifted in some respects. And quite a lot of fun.” Motioning for Erland to recline at her side, she ran a finger around the collar of his tunic. “You wear so many clothes, you men of the North. You’re almost as bad as our fierce Brijaner sea rovers. They refuse to remove their fur cloaks, even though they grow faint in the heat. And they think their lives are ruled by the ghosts of their dead mothers, and only take one wife in their lifetime. They are very strange. You would be more comfortable if you took some clothing off, don’t you think?”
Erland found himself actually blushing. He had assumed from the timing of the meeting and his previous experience with Keshian trueblood girls that the Princess might have something more personal than an informal state visit in mind when she asked him to visit her quarters, but now he felt suddenly awkward.
Sensing his reluctance, Sharana unfixed the clasp that held her scant robe in place and let it fall open. “See, it’s easy.”
Erland leaned forward and offered a kiss, ready to retreat if he mistook the girl’s intentions. She answered with a strong kiss, and suddenly two pair of hands were removing his clothing. When Erland removed his last garment, Sharana rolled over on her back. As he took position over her, he realized the four servingwomen were still stationed around the pavilion, and the gauzy hangings offered only an illusion of privacy. Erland felt a momentary hesitation as he saw one of the servants standing only a few inches away, but as the Princess pulled him to her, he gave no more thought to their presence. I must be getting used to these people, he thought, before he lost himself in a warm and sensuous world. Their lovemaking was intense and hurried, as if neither could wait to reach satisfaction.
When they were both spent, Erland moved to Sharana’s side and the girl playfully ran her hand over his chest and stomach. “Miya said you start quickly.”
Erland felt himself blush again and said, “Do … did you and Miya discuss me … in great detail?”
Sharana laughed, her ample breasts bouncing with the movement. She put her head upon Erland’s chest. “Of course. I ordered her to tell me everything, everything about you after you took her that first night.”
Not sure he wanted to hear the answer, Erland said, “Ah … what did she say?”
Sharana began doing interesting things with her left hand while lying next to Erland, her right arm forming a triangle as she rested her head on her right hand. “Oh, she said that you were … enthusiastic … and a little impatient … the first time. But that the second time was well worth the effort.”
Erland laughed as he reached out and grabbed Sharana, pulling her to him. “Let’s see if she was right.”
The heralds blew their long horns, and the drums began beating. Erland and his company sat in one of the boxes used by the Keshian nobility the previous night, the guests of Prince Awari and Lord Nirome. As the second day of the Empress’s Jubilee got under way, contests and exhibitions were scheduled. The Empress might or might not appear in her private box, overlooking the amphitheater, but the games continued as if she were there. Short, muscular men were dressed in the costumes of their warrior ancestors. Each man wore a white breech-cloth, leaving buttocks bare. Some wore carved and painted demon masks, while others had painted their faces with blue patterns. Many had shaved heads or had their hair pulled back into a warrior’s queue. Ancient instruments—skin-covered drums, rattles made from animal skulls, and horn trumpets—were played with enthusiasm as the warriors began their ancient contest.
A stone of seven feet in height was pulled out to the center of the amphitheater by a dozen men, singing a strange repetitive chant. Others urged them on with cries, grunts, and exaggerated gestures.
Erland turned to his host and said, “I am pleased for the opportunity to spend some time with Your Highness.”
Awari smiled graciously and said, “The pleasure is mine, Your Highness.”
Lord Nirome, sitting behind Erland, and next to James and Gamina, said, “Anything to build bridges between our two nations, Your Highnesses.”
Prince of the Blood Page 32