The Lion of Farside tlof-1

by John Dalmas

Macurdy laughed, disentangling himself from her arms. "Omara wants you to rest till tomorrow, and there's a lot I need to get done so I can give you my full attention after the wedding. I don't want Jeremid interrupting us with a bunch of questions and authorizations to handle."

  She made a face at him. "All right, troll prince, one more day. One more day and you're mine." Her next kiss was less forceful and more sensual; he left grinning.

  Varia mused in her tent, feeling vaguely jealous. Not like an ex-lover, but more like-a mother! How dare that impetuous young woman lust for my Curtis! she asked herself, and chuckled. Have you forgotten when you seduced him? What a night! It's a good thing his spear maiden's strong; she may get more than she expects.

  Remembering brought a backwash of that lust, but it had little force. Tomorrow morning Curtis would come to say goodbye; they'd shake hands and probably never see one another again. Then she'd ride away north to Raien, not having to wonder any longer, and in a few days they'd be back with baby Ceonigh.

  The house, known locally as Korens Manor, was not large for a governor's residence, but it was more than large enough for Macurdy's two-day honeymoon. He'd chosen the master bedroom suite at one end of the second floor, while his orderly and couriers, and two squads of guards under a lieutenant and two sergeants, occupied rooms on the ground floor. It would have felt unsafe to be there with no more than the servants.

  The household staff stayed mostly out of sight. Macurdy and Melody, with the witnesses as their supper guests, were met at the door by the steward, who did his best to ignore the foreign soldiers standing guard with swords and spears. What might they do to him if something happened to their commander? Suppose a piece of meat stuck in his throat! Or some dish upset his stomach and they suspected poison!

  Unlikely, he told himself, but wasn't entirely assured. After all, these people were barbarians.

  Macurdy savored the last of his pudding and laid down his spoon. Excellent, he told himself, especially considering that civilian distribution of everything, food in particular, had been disrupted by his foraging parties. The wine, the first he'd ever drank, had even been cool.

  "Here's to the cook!" Jeremid said cheerfully, pushing back his chair.

  "Here's what to the cook?" Macurdy countered. "We need to take a collection for her. And for the steward; he's probably the one who actually got the stuff."

  "The locals will be glad to see us go," Tarlok grunted. "They're on edge. Been holding their breath, afraid we'll go on a rampage before we leave. You can almost smell it when you deal with them."

  Macurdy turned his gaze to Jeremid. "I'm depending on our operations officer to see that no one does."

  Jeremid grinned. "I've got ears out to here." He gestured, indicating something rabbit-like. "But it's unlikely. The whole army heard what you did, or supposedly did, in the Kormehri camp. Not that the Kormehri exaggerated." He laughed. "Not having been there, I get this picture of you buffaloing a whole damn company all by yourself, pulling guys off women by the hair, gutting the company commander and first sergeant, and marching the rest of them out to the battlefield bare-assed, then running them in circles till their balls dragged."

  Tarlok snorted. "Ozman, I was there. Not that I did anything to help; I was scared spitless. And what you just said is a pretty good description. If I'd tried it, or you, or both of us together, they'd have torn us apart. And if we'd gone in with a company of guards, there'd have been a riot as bad as the damned battle."

  "That's the secret," Macurdy said. "Do it alone. Grab guys and start yanking them around. They don't know what to do then; they think you must be more than you are."

  Tarlok shook his head. "If it'd been me, they'd have carved me up like a solstice ox. Besides, I saw your sword when you…"

  Melody had been watching and listening without taking part. Now, getting to her feet, she interrupted. Firmly. "That's it! Party's over! The good guest knows when to leave, and this is when. I'm taking my husband upstairs and scrub his back for him."

  "Spear maiden…" Jeremid began, then thought better of it. "May it be a night to remember. Macurdy, I'm glad you finally got smart. You two belong together."

  Melody left then, while Macurdy walked their guests to the front door and out onto the lawn, where he shook hands with the three of them: Jeremid, Tarlok, and the Teklan, Asperel, who'd felt a little out of place with these ex-rebel comrades. They waited without saying a lot, while their orderlies saddled and brought their horses. Then Macurdy watched them ride off in the dusk before going inside and up to his suite.

  He'd half expected Melody to be waiting naked, but she fooled him. She'd undressed, but put on a robe found in a closet. And with the robe, a serious face.

  "Did I tell you you're beautiful, spear maiden?" he asked quietly.

  "No, but I knew it anyway. Pretty, at least."

  "Did I tell you I've been looking forward to this?"

  Her gaze was searching. "Have you really?"

  He stepped to her, put his arms around her inside her robe, and pulling her close, kissed her, then kissed her again before stepping back.

  "Take your clothes off, Macurdy," she said quietly. "Unless you'd rather I did it for you."

  He took them off himself while she watched. When he was naked, she dropped her robe. "Do you know what, Macurdy?"

  He stared. "What, Melody?" He'd have to stop calling her spear maiden, he decided. She was too beautiful.

  "I'm nervous," she said quietly. "I can't believe it, but I'm nervous. And the bath is hot. Hot enough that I closed the flue from the stove."

  He took her hand. "Then let's go try it out."

  They walked into the small adjacent bath. The tub was tiled and half sunken, big enough for four or five to sit. The water wasn't as hot as he'd expected, but more than warm enough, given that it was Six-Month and the room warmed by the stove. They sat not across from each other, but side by side, and within seconds were kissing again, embracing, fondling. Without either suggesting it, they got to their feet and clambered dripping from the tub. Towels had been set out on a bench, and they dried hurriedly, then went into the bedroom.

  Later they donned robes and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked fields. Dusk had thickened into twilight, and twilight into night, with the crescent moon still well up in the west. There was a cushioned bench, and they sat down on it together, for some time simply holding hands, saying nothing. At length Melody turned and found him looking at her. "I love you, Macurdy," she murmured. "I really do. I have all along, but now it's different. You're a marvelous lover. I thought you'd probably be rough the first time, like a stallion, you're so damned big and strong. And that would have been fine. But you're not. You're thoughtful and loving, and you do the right thing at the right time. It was nicer than I'd ever imagined."

  She leaned and kissed him. "This is going to last a long time," she murmured. They kissed some more, and her hand slipped inside his robe. A minute later they went back inside.

  ***

  Private Olvi Kalister stood on the porch beside the front entrance, spear butted by his right foot, thoughts on what he imagined was going on inside. He had a wife back at North Fork, whom he hadn't seen now for-he didn't pay much attention to dates, but it seemed like a long time. A mosquito hummed beside his face, then touched down on his cheek, and absently he crushed it.

  "Did you get him?" Private Malakum murmured.

  "If I didn't, I scared shit out of him."

  "I'll bet they're not paying any attention to mosquitoes upstairs."

  "I've heard that mosquitoes don't bite Macurdy. Flies either, or cooties."

  I'll bet right now they could bite his bobbing ass twenty at a time, Malakum told himself, and he'd never notice. "You hear all kinds of things," he said.

  "I heard that when he went in and yanked the Kormehri around the other night, there was a ball of fire on the point of his saber."

  Malakum said nothing; he tended to skepticism. On the other hand, Macurdy'd done
some uncanny stuff, in front of people Malakum knew well.

  The door opened between the two men, and Corporal Freck stepped out. "You guys thirsty?" he asked in a half whisper.

  The sentries' attention sharpened. "What have you got in mind?"

  The corporal chuckled. "A couple of us were snooping around the basement with a torch. Found a trapdoor in the floor, and went down in." He held out a small jug. "It's where they store their ale. We figured if the bigwigs could have a party, we ought to have one too. A little one, not enough to get drunk and in trouble. To celebrate the wedding. And the war being over without us getting killed; now there's a reason! This one's yours." He handed it to Malakum. "The stopper's out-didn't want it lying on the porch in the morning-but no one's drunk out of it yet. Just keep quiet, and bring the jug with you when you're relieved."

  He went back in and closed the door softly behind him. Malakum took a swig, exhaled a forcible "Ah!" and handed the bottle to Olvi. "Good stuff," he said. "Strong."

  Olvi drank and grunted. "Better than my Uncle Loth brews. Freck is all right, bringing us this." They continued passing it back and forth, and after a bit sat down on the top step, their spears lying beside them. Olvi had been part of Orthal's Company when Macurdy first turned up, and without exaggerating much, told stories about their commander. By the time the jug was empty, each man had relieved his bladder onto a shrub, and the moon had set.

  Then a woman's scream tore the air, from inside, and both guards jumped to their feet, spears in hand, unsure where it had come from, though it almost had to be… It was followed almost at once by a roar of anger, also inside, and a moment later another, this time from the balcony outside the marshal's suite.

  "Get beneath the balcony!" Malakum snapped, then banged through the door, headed for the stairs, and bounded up three at a time. From the far wing, boots hammered down the hall, for the windows were open, and the screams had reached the guardroom. At the last door on his left, he grabbed the handle, turned it and yanked, then dashed in. The only light came from the corridor, enough to see dimly a large figure half dragging and half carrying a smaller, who was struggling and swearing. The marshal's voice shouted, "Bring a lamp, for God's sake!" and Malakum sprinted back out to take one from a tripod in the hall. By that time two more guardsmen came dashing up, one of them barefoot, and ran in.

  The marshal stood naked, one thick arm across the throat of a man fully dressed. Blood ran down the marshal's right forearm, and both men were smeared with it. The bed was overturned, the mattress partly beside and partly beneath it. "Get manacles," he said, his voice controlled now. "And turn the bed over. I think Colonel Melody's under the mattress."

  Malakum, holding the lamp, stared while the barefoot guard upended the bed onto its feet and threw the mattress on it. On the floor was the marshal's naked bride, bloody from face to feet, either dead or unconscious. More men came in. Malakum looked back at the marshal. The officer of the guard tried to manacle the intruder, and when he resisted, the marshal's arm tightened against the attacker's throat till he went slack.

  As soon as the man was shackled, the marshal moved to his wife, swept the sheet off the bed and threw it to a guard. "Make bandages!" he snapped, and the guard began to tear it into broad strips. The marshal's hands went to two of his bride's worst knife wounds, and he began to chant. After a minute he turned to the guardsmen, his voice level but intense. "Send someone to the Sisters. Fast! Tell Sister Omara what's happened, and bring her right away. And take that-" he gestured with his head at the prisoner "-outside. But don't damage him. I'll do the damaging myself, later."

  Then he turned back to his bride as if none of them were there, continuing to touch and chant while Private Malakum stood wooden with dismay.

  Lieutenant Sarsli and one of the guards took the intruder out between them, the man's feet bumping down the stairs. "Be glad it's not your head," the guard said. Macurdy had dislocated the man's elbow, and the soldier jerked the arm a couple of times, making the man cry out in pain. "Stop that!" Sarsli snapped. "You heard what the marshal said." They hustled the prisoner out the front door and onto the lawn, where the soldier threw him down.

  "How did you get in there?" Sarsli demanded.

  "How do you suppose?" The man's voice was high-pitched with emotion. "I climbed the vines to the balcony. And I'd have killed him, if it hadn't been so damned dark in there. I stabbed his whore by mistake."

  "The vines?" Sarsli turned and stared at Olvi, who'd come back to the porch.

  The intruder laughed bitterly. "I watched from the fence while your so-called guards sat drinking and talking on the porch. When the moon went down, I sneaked across the lawn and climbed the vines. They wouldn't have noticed if I'd gone over and goosed them."

  Oh shit! Sarsli thought, dread settling in his gut. He'd known about the ale. He should have made sure the men on watch didn't get any. No one should have; he should have stashed it till they went back to camp. The marshal would likely kill him now; flogging wouldn't be enough. For just a moment Sarsli considered killing the prisoner, but that wouldn't help. The marshal would find out about the ale anyway, and have two reasons to kill him. As it was, he might be lucky, and a flogging he could survive. Especially, he told himself, when he so richly deserved it.

  Macurdy sat naked and bloody on the bed beside his bride. She had an aura, but he could find no pulse. He'd had one of the guards light the lamps in the room, and bring him wet cloths. Arbel's blood-stopping spell had worked, and now, gently but firmly, he washed the congealing blood from around the multiple stab wounds on her breasts and left shoulder, the deep and ugly slash on her left arm. But didn't bandage them; when Omara came, she'd want to see them.

  He became aware that the soldier who'd brought in the first lamp still stood holding it. "Soldier," he said softly, "didn't I say everyone out?"

  "Yessir."

  He watched the man's aura flicker. "What is it you want to tell me?"

  "Marshal Macurdy, sir, I was on guard at the front door. I'm to blame for what happened. For that guy getting in."

  "I doubt he came in the front door."

  "No sir, I'm sure he didn't. Nor any other door. The lieutenant locked them before I ever came on watch, and posted a guard at each end of the downstairs hall. He must have climbed the vines to the balcony. We should have seen him from the porch, crossing the grass, but we had a jug of ale, and sat there talking and forgot to watch. We weren't drunk. We were just-" he paused, swallowed-"celebrating your wedding."

  Macurdy looked at him silently for a moment, and when he spoke, it was quietly. "It's done now. We'll see later what we need to do about that."

  "Yessir."

  "Take the lamp back where you got it and tell my orderly and couriers to stay where they are in case I need them. They're out in the hall, not sure what to do. Then go back to your post."

  "Yessir." The man left.

  Jesus Christ, Macurdy thought, celebrating my wedding, then began the healing formulas Arbel had taught him for loss of blood.

  He couldn't have said how much time had passed when Omara entered with her aide. He'd heard them coming down the hall, along with someone wearing boots, but only the Sisters came in. Omara's eyes settled on Melody. "Wash yourself, Marshal," she said. "I'll see to her."

  Going to the washstand at one side of the room, he filled the basin and washed, while behind him, Omara half sang, half murmured her spells. Most of the blood that reddened the wash water was Melody's, he decided. The knife gash on his arm seemed to have stopped bleeding by itself, though it was deep enough that tonus kept it open. He wondered if Varia's spell of long youth had made a difference.

  When he'd washed, he pulled on a pair of breeches, then went back to watch Omara work. The Sister looked up at him. "She'll live," she said, examining him calmly. "Who taught you healing? Varia?"

  "We weren't together long enough. I learned it from a shaman in Oz. I was his student for a while, but did poorly on my healing tests."


  "It wasn't for lack of talent." Omara turned to her aide. "Narella, bandage her. Tightly so the healing spells work properly. We don't want great scars on the marshal's bride."

  She got up from the bed, a handsome woman in uniform, managing to seem long mature, despite her youthful appearance. Macurdy wondered how old she actually was. "Let me bandage your forearm, Macurdy," she said. "Gaping like that, the scar will be large and subject to damage. Besides, the blood needs to circulate through the flesh there."

  After she'd washed and bandaged it, she sang a brief formula quite different from Arbel's. When she was done, she stepped back and looked at him. "I'll stay with her tonight. Wounds and blood loss like hers shock deeply. I'll not harm her, nor anyone in my care. I was trained first in healing, and only later in other magicks."

  Her aura assured him. "Thank you," he said. "I have to see about something." He finished dressing, donned boots, then belted on his knife and saber, and left. On the lawn, a whole platoon of soldiers were guarding Melody's attacker now, despite his manacles. They'd been sent for, as if Sarsli thought someone might try to rescue the man.

  Macurdy stopped a few feet away and stared at the attacker. A youth, really, staring back gray-faced but defiant. "Stand him on his feet," Macurdy said. Two soldiers lifted the young man by the arms so that he cried out with pain. When he was standing, Macurdy drew his knife.

  "My wife will live. She won't even be badly scarred. Does that cheer you?"

  "It wasn't her I climbed the vines to kill. It was you! And if it hadn't been so dark… But if killing her would hurt you enough, I could still rejoice in it."

  "And you like knives. Have you ever been cut by one? Badly?"

  The man said nothing, but fear collapsed his aura.

  "I'll show you what it's like. First I'll cut off your ears, then your nose, then your horn and balls, and then…"

  Abruptly words burst from the young man. "And what of my father? Will you let him do those things to you? A squad of your soldiers raped my mother and sister in front of him, and laughed when he wept and pleaded with them. They took my sister with them when they left with our valuables; God knows what became of her. Afterward my mother killed herself. Will you let him cut you up for that?"