by Alex Sapegin
A strong kick sent him into the small chamber, and the lock on the super-thick doors began to screech. The doors were upholstered with studded strips of gray metal. A pile of hay lay in one corner, a wooden pail with a cover in another. There was a teeny little window. That was all. Andy sat down on the hay. Mice began to squeak in protest from underneath him. He hugged his knees and began to ponder. The hunt is at hand… he surmised correctly.
***
Kingdom of Rimm, Raston. Nirel.
Nirel adjusted his handkerchief and walked away from the mirror. Just what was needed! A dark gray camisole with silver embroidery and metallic wristbands fit him perfectly; it didn’t tug or pinch anywhere. Nirel slapped his feet into long, over-the-knee boots of soft leather and smoothed his hair.
Only the final touches were left. The elf donned a signet ring with a sparkling stone on the middle finger of his right hand and hung a sheath encrusted with silver ornaments on his belt. It contained a long knife that matched his costume. Entering the ball with a sword was only allowed for the members of the king’s personal guard. The noblemen would have to make due with knives or daggers to confirm their status.
The invitation to the ball in honor of King Hudd’s youngest daughter’s fourteenth birthday caught him unawares; he wondered for a long time who might have assisted him in this matter. Getting nowhere, he quit the pointless task. It was a very good thing that he would be visiting the palace today. He had a lot of affairs that he might be able to manage while blending into the hum of the palace and he mustn’t miss this opportunity to acquire additional connections among high society.
Only the final touches were left. The elf donned a signet ring with a sparkling stone on the middle finger of his right hand and hung a sheath encrusted with silver ornaments on his belt. It contained a long knife that matched his costume. Entering the ball with a sword was only allowed for the members of the king’s personal guard. The noblemen would have to make due with knives or daggers to confirm their status.
“Get the bags,” he called to a servant, and with a steady step, descended to the first floor of his dwelling.
***
The gargantuan double doors swung open, and Nirel stepped into the Ceremonial Hall. Two servants in full dress livery shut the doors and returned to their positions like statues, awaiting the next guests. The huge hall was full of courtiers and nobles from the highest society of the kingdom, and the ambassadors invited from other states stood out as separate little islands of people. Dressed in their best, guests were constantly whispering to one another, creating a ceaseless din in the room.
Nirel’s eyes scanned the room’s decorations. The walls were covered with wooden panels of stained oak. He wouldn’t have noticed them were it not for the indescribable beauty of the carvings they contained, showing animals, birds, and plants. Many of the carved figures were adorned with precious stones and seemed alive. The leaves on the trees were lined with green malachite, jade, and rubies. The high ceilings got lost among fake clouds. The floor was paved with tiles of various colors forming intricate patterns. The multitude of magical lanterns ingeniously hidden among the panels on the walls and the cupola ceiling brightly lit the hall and created a calm, cozy atmosphere.
At the far end of the hall, there was a high platform with thrones on it. A golden embroidered wall hanging decorated the back of the throne belonging to King Hudd. It portrayed the state emblem—a Eurasian cave lion standing on its hind legs. The second throne was draped with a white sheet. Queen Omelia had died three years ago of an acute fever. The life mages turned out to be powerless against the rare illness. As per the kingdom’s traditions, they had draped the throne to indicate that the king was in mourning and not seeking a second bride at this time. The elf supposed Hudd himself, through his agents and schemes, had sent his wife to Hel’s judgment.
Nirel, hands clasped behind his back, calmly walked along the walls, responding to nods of greeting from a few courtiers. The head executioner was a fairly well-known figure. Many ladies’ dark glances followed the debonair man as he went by. He had but to stand close, and their tightly corseted chests began to expand in trepidation as their fans fluttered three times more rapidly.
Once he had wandered about the room for a while, Nirel approached the state dignitaries, who were discussing various political news. He carefully listened to the topic of conversation and put in a couple of sharp-witted comments regarding the policies on Tantre, indirectly touching on Duke Lere. In passing, based on his experience with the same Tantre and the Patskoi Empire, too, he suggested a few improvements in the organization of their foreign policies.
The young man’s careful words and poised manners were for the benefit of one person only—the head of the foreign relations House, Count Ludwig Ramizo. The count was quite interested in the suggestions raised regarding the duke. He asked for a more in-depth explanation. Nirel immediately started in on the militia that was growing much too fast, specifically Lere’s personal army. He expressed amazement at the fact that the dukedom had not become penniless; maintaining such a crowd of armed people is quite expensive, and taxes were being paid promptly to the treasury.
Ramizo exchanged a glance with another official, who simply nodded in response to the Count’s silent accusation, confirming the accuracy of the young man’s statement. The Count raised his bushy eyebrows and offered the elf a more private meeting, perhaps in two days’ time. He asked to be assured that he wasn’t imposing too much on the young man’s schedule.
Nirel began to wave his hands. “Of course not! I am available anytime.” After a few minutes, under a pleasant-sounding pretext, he parted from the group.
Excellent! One meeting with an old diplomat and head of the Foreign Affairs House and all the expenses of this evening were worth it. He hoped the evening’s activities would lead to the secret service of the Foreign Relations House overseas. After all, the Count wouldn’t necessarily need to know who the secret service was working for.
***
Nirel was losing his patience. He had spent no less than an hour in the main hall, and neither the king nor the princesses had appeared. Just then, the tall double-doors spread wide open, and the audience, holding its breath, listened to the herald’s loud voice announcing the entrance of the royal family. The orchestra began to play the state hymn of the Kingdom of Rimm, and the King paused at the doors to let the birthday princess go first. With his elder daughter on his arm, he slowly moved toward the throne. All the ladies bowed reverently, heads down. The Cavaliers bowed low at the waist.
His Majesty Hudd of Rimm was a short, stout man with a puffy, vicious-looking countenance that gave him away as a lover of wine. The king’s large shiny eyes perused all the ladies bent before him, resting on those with a large chest and a low décolleté. The disgusting arc of his puffy lips lent him a capricious expression, and scant greasy locks of brown curls draped onto his shoulders.
He could have washed his hair for his daughter’s birthday ball! the elf thought. The golden crown on the king’s head looked as out-of-place as a saddle on a cow—too big and constantly slipping down to his eyebrows. There were several dozen faceted diamonds on it. His Majesty, like a crow, had a penchant for all things shiny.
King Hudd’s daughters didn’t look anything like their father; their height, figures, and faces were like that of the deceased queen. The younger one, Namita, as thin as a reed, with a barely visible chest, was dressed in an airy white gown. Strings of river pearls were interwoven into the birthday girl’s dark hair in an intricate hair do. Her tiny, low-heeled shoes were covered in topaz. Her large brown eyes, like her father’s, shone rapturously.
Taliza was the opposite of her younger sister. Duchess Reirskaya, the heir to the throne, had a figure that called to mind Valkyrie of the Vikings. She had a large round chest, a thin waist, wide hips and long legs. The princess’ dark curly hair was interwoven with green ribbons that cascaded like a waterfall to her waist. Taliza’s green dress with yello
w trim was sewn by the most skilled tailors, hiding any flaws and accentuating the merits of her figure.
A small golden diadem with emeralds held back her hair to expose her face and green eyes that held a constant and penetrating gaze. Her plump lips parted to reveal pearl-white teeth when she walked by Nirel, who was in a low bow. The elf’s sixth sense told him who had sent him the invitation.
His Majesty ascended the platform and plopped down onto the throne. The hymn ended. Congratulations and best birthday wishes began, along with the passing out of presents. Nirel stepped out to a wide balcony to get some air. He was tired of the pandemonium and needed to ponder the situation.
Things seemed to be going well. He had baited the princess, apparently; he couldn’t explain the invitation to the ball any other way. They had met at a social gathering at the house of Count Lars four months ago. Nirel was, at that time, showing ostentatious signs of attention towards Baroness Von Ramm and had only politely bowed his head and kissed the Duchess’ hand, not showing a personal interest in her in the least. Surrounded by crowds of suitors, the Princess must have been surprised by such a cold attitude, although she did not become angry about it. Their next meeting was at a hunt at Baron Von Ramm’s. Being an excellent horse-rider and archer, Nirel shot all the prize hares and laid them at the Princess’ feet, pronouncing her the queen of the forest.
Upon arrival at the estate, he had not permitted himself to show anything but friendly, neutral attention toward Taliza. He then saw sparks of interest toward him flare up in her eyes. Their third meeting threw dry brush on those sparks. The Princess became the unwilling witness to a duel between Nirel and the eldest son of Count Orkneisky, a reputed bully and a notorious duelist, who had already run through more than a dozen men, sending them to meet their makers. Only his father’s influence saved the man from vindication by the relatives of the deceased and punishment by the law.
Arranging the situation by an insult to the count that drew his challenge to a duel was not a problem. Nirel reduced the man to bits in a matter of seconds, piercing him with sharp blades. The Princess gave him a bit of emphatic applause and a radiant smile; she had had quite enough of the now-deceased admirer. Perhaps it was by her protection that Nirel had evaded all consequence for the death of a high-born noble at the hands of a simple executioner.
And then he had gotten the invitation… He had to step carefully, so as not to inadvertently offend the girl. Love and hate were just one step apart, after all. He had to find out what she wanted and give it to her, creating a tie to himself as much were possible. The ideal outcome would be to become the secret lover of the heir to the throne, a behind-the-scenes advisor to the future queen.
Music rang out in the hall, along with deafening applause. Nirel returned to society; the ball had begun.
***
After three hours of various paired tours and dances with constantly changing partners, his feet began to ache. He was not able to ask Taliza to dance. The Princess was surrounded by such a crowd of high-born admirers that blocked access to him, according to “legend,” the second son of Count Strino from far-away Meriya.
Nirel bent his knee, kissed his last partner’s hand and retreated to the refreshment tables. Her Highness’ frauleins walked by. One of the ladies faltered and almost fell when she tripped over the long train of her ball gown, but the elf caught her in time. She thanked her savior and disappeared into the crowd. In the cuff of his sleeve, Nirel discovered a small note with the words, In one hour, first floor, near the statue of Hel—T.
***
Exactly one hour later, he descended to the first floor of the castle and, at a leisurely pace, walked by the statue of the goddess Hel. An inconspicuous panel on the wall behind the statue turned around. “Sir…” The face of the fraulein he had saved from falling appeared in the opening. Nirel slipped into the passageway that she opened. The woman turned a lever on the wall, and the panel returned to its place. No one had seen anything. “Please follow me, sir.”
The palace turned out to be full of secret passageways. Through the twists and turns, Nirel walked behind the fraulein and admired her handsome figure; perhaps she had elvish blood in her.
“This way,” she came to a stop in front of a small door.
Entering through the door, he found himself in a richly decorated boudoir. Thick candles burned in silver candlesticks. The walls were draped with scarlet velvet and decorated with paintings in heavy gilded frames. The scent of expensive women’s perfume hung in the air. A wide four-poster bed with a silk canopy stood in the center of the room. A small bedside table held a shining bottle of expensive wine and a bowl of fruit.
A masked door quietly creaked open, and Taliza stepped into the room.
“This is for Countess Menskaya,” the Princess said and slapped Nirel in the face.
So that’s who employed the freckled herald’s prying eyes.
“Why her?”
“She’s so like you, Your Grace!” Nirel feigned guilt, bowing his head.
The princess walked up to him and placed her hands on his shoulders.
“I was just afraid…” he said.
“Of what? Tell me!” Her little hands slipped along his back.
“That you would reject me. Who am I to you? I’m the son, but not the heir, of a well-known count from a faraway kingdom. I preferred to love you from afar, admiring you as one would an elvish rose in his father’s garden. I’m accustomed to realistic thinking.”
The elf placed his hands on her slim waist.
The Princess laughed. “Idiot. I’m once more convinced of how silly you men can be.”
Nirel wanted to answer, but a thin finger pressed his lips.
“You’d better pour me some wine, my knight.”
Nirel uncorked the bottle and poured wine for both of them in wide goblets with long thin stems. He touched a small protrusion on the edge of his pinky ring ever so lightly, and a tiny portion of a love potion spilled into the princess’ glass. The mix was extremely rare; one drop cost 20,000 gold pounds, more than a dragon’s heart. Anyone who ingested it before making love would engender a constant need in their partner; no one else would ever be able to give them such pleasure. Nirel measured the dose as accurately as possible to create a bond and the desire to meet again. He had no need for a sex slave; that could turn into strong evidence against him.
He knew he was but one of many well-built, handsome men who had already visited her bed and that he meant nothing to her. His potion helped ensure a chance to capture her attention.
Taliza sat on the bed, accepted the outstretched goblet and took a sip. “My father is organizing a hunt at the wild park tomorrow,” she said. “Will you be my companion?”
“I’m hunting already,” he quipped, and pulled on one of Taliza’s ribbons, releasing her gown.
“Careful with the goods,” the princess laughed gleefully.
***
Raston, the Royal Hunt. Andy.
Andy had gobbled up all the slop they gave him in the evening and the morning. Despite his expectations, his stomach digested what he had consumed. He had barely slept last night; as soon as he began to doze, something a lot bigger than a mouse ran by his legs. He opened his eyes and glanced around the cell. In the dim light of the night sky through the tiny window, he couldn’t see anything, but sleep escaped him from then on.
After his morning meal, Andy felt a lot better. His back stopped itching, and his stomach growled less. He even got a chance to sleep a bit. The clang of the lock awakened him. Three gigantic guards stepped into his cell and slapped shackles on him to drag him outside.
It’s starting! Andy thought, looking at the chained orcs and several unknown creatures resembling beast-like people. The guards approached and threaded a long chain between special rings on all their shackles. He was next to Gynug. They forced the “prey” toward the gates.
The bipedal herd, pushed forward by humongous dogs, jogged for a short time. In ten minutes, a 20-foo
t-high stone wall stood before the slaves. It had small gates with a wicket inside, which opened to the slaves.
***
On the other side, they found themselves in the care of another group of guards and a pair of mages. They removed the prisoners’ shackles and ripped all their clothes off, before painting markings on the slaves’ backs.
They numbered us! Andy guessed. The humans and orcs then ran in the direction of a dense thicket, in their birthday suits, to the accompaniment of jeers and whistles.
“A-rei,” Gynug’s disheveled head appeared from the bushes. He turned toward her voice, covering his manhood. The old woman extended a clump of grass to him. “Gav-gav arg!”
Gynug indicated that he should rub the herb on himself and sniffed the air. Andy took the herb and began actively rubbing it on himself. “I get it. This plant’ll throw the dogs off our trail.” All thoughts of decorum had gone to the wayside. He was soon covered in dark green blotches and smelled like freshly cut grass. Meticulously examining his green arms, legs, and torso, Andy recalled the masks and markings of the Special Forces teams back home. He grabbed a whole fistful of moist black soil and rubbed it in wide stripes on his skin. Gynug observed him and began to do the same. When she had finished, she went up to Andy and rubbed his back with the herb. Andy took the shredded bundle of wild plants and rubbed it on the orc’s back.
The sound of hunting horns and the loud barking of dogs came from far away. A couple of orcs jumped out of the bushes, grabbed the old shaman under the arms and pulled her into the depths of the thicket. Gynug cried out and writhed in her tribesmen’s hands, but they didn’t even think of obeying her. Andy was left alone. Bending down and creeping right over the ground, he ran to the abundant, sprawling trees that reminded him of oaks back home. His right foot got caught on some kind of stick, and he tumbled head over heels. The hapless stick turned out to be a fragment of a spear with a narrow leaf-shaped tip. Apparently, it had been left over from the previous hunt. Taking the find, Andy took off up the nearest tree as stealthily as a cat.