The Jaguar Knights
Page 43
“Oh, yes. Homeless, of course. And we shall have shipping problems from now on. There is no decent harbor on that coast.”
Don Lope shrugged. “We’re better off than the farmers.”
“How so?”
“You can’t drop cotton or beans overboard and expect them to swim ashore.” He smiled, which required only a slight change in the permanent tooth-displaying sneer of his disfigurement.
Eagle laughed and said, “True.”
Lady Attewell greeted the visitor when they reached the veranda. Wolf excused himself and disappeared into the house. Eagle presented the trifling gift he had brought for the lady—a seashell necklace—inquired after her daughter, chose a comfortable chair, and accepted a glass of cool fluid. He yielded to her entreaties and promised he would stay for at least two days this time. Wolf had chosen wisely when he bought this place. The view of the mountains was stupendous on one side, and the sea was visible on the other. Eagle could almost feel jealous.
El Diablo had done well in his choice of wife, too. Dona Novia was the daughter of a prosperous planter, Pascual Fombella. She had the striking dark beauty that often appeared in a first cross, and wit to go with it. Eagle told her about Sigisa and she duly expressed horror. He suspected she was pregnant again. That was not unreasonable, because Amy must be about two now. Wolf reappeared with a package which almost certainly contained a sword, but which he laid beside his chair unexplained.
Polite conversation floated in the evening air like dreams of butterflies. Novia asked what was to be done about Sigisa. Eagle mentioned a relief ship being organized in Mondon. Wolf promised a contribution. The problem was money, of course. Rich though ranchers were in land, hard cash was always short. Young Edwin came limping in to boast of his riding.
In a moment Dona Novia rose from her chair. “Come along, young man. Don Águila has business to discuss with your father.”
Edwin aimed a worried glance at Wolf, who laughed.
“I haven’t forgotten! Don Águila will come with us and teach both of us. He’s a much better diver than I am.”
Reassured, Edwin allowed himself to be led away.
“I am hopeless in water,” Eagle protested. “I know nothing about diving. You should be teaching me.”
Wolf grinned wolfishly. “Edwin will be pleased when he realizes that! Now, brother…” He produced a scroll. “When El Dorado fell, I had occasion to send a package Home to Ironhall, Returning a sword. Amazingly, it arrived safely. Equally amazingly, Grand Master’s reply reached me, too. It came a couple of days ago.”
Eagle laid down his glass and stared very hard at him. “Are you telling me that there was a Blade in El Dorado? That a Chivian Blade died in the assault?” And if so, how had Wolf obtained his sword? He had been here in Condridad when the long and bloody siege finally ended. There were fantastic rumors that he had visited the floating city the previous year and his first wife had died there. Eagle hoped to get the story out of him one day, Blade to Blade, but their friendship had not yet advanced to the sharing of confidences.
“It is a long story, brother, not all of which I can reveal, even yet.” Wolf smiled wanly. “I’ll tell you what I can, but yes, a brother did die in the fall of El Dorado, if not before. When I wrote, I passed on your thanks to Grand Master, as you once asked me to. And he sent this for you.”
Eagle accepted the scroll reluctantly but made no effort to unroll it. The seal was obviously the royal signet of Chivial. He had seen it often enough. “The bitch?” he said.
Wolf chuckled. “Lord Roland wrote that, when he became Grand Master, he inherited some items of unfinished business. That deed, he told me, is a royal pardon for the former Sir Eagle, and accolade of knighthood in the Loyal and Ancient Order.”
“The bitch!” Eagle repeated. The injustice still rankled, after thirty years.
“Durendal also pointed out that the document is dated very early in the reign of Queen Malinda. It must have been done on her first visit to Ironhall. I remember that day! Thirdmoon, 388, it was, twelve years ago. Hereward was Prime.” When his guest did not comment, Wolf reached for the package beside his chair. “This, I am informed, is an exact replica of a sword named Stoop. The original was destroyed when you were expelled, of course.”
“The nerve of the hussy!” Eagle muttered. “She was sixteen. Spoiled rotten. Arrogant. Oversexed.” He had never told anyone the story, yet it had been common knowledge at the time and ancient history now. He sighed. “I suppose I wasn’t completely innocent. We had to guard her, of course, and we played games with her. We’d take turns flirting. Just a glance or two would do it. She was lonely, insecure, daren’t trust anyone around that snake pit Court of her father’s, and he barely knew she existed. Blades could be trusted, though. All her life she’d been told that the Royal Guard could be trusted. We toyed with her. We weren’t serious! Spirits, a bound Blade could collect more girls around Court in those days than he had hours in the day for!”
“They still can,” Wolf said. “They still do.”
“Not princesses, though. When Malinda went starry-eyed, we’d complain to Leader, and he’d reassign us. But then Durendal was promoted to Chancellor and Bandit took over. He didn’t react fast enough. One evening she cornered me in the stable and kissed me. She kissed me! And in walked the snoops. They must have been watching her day and night.”
“Sounds right,” Wolf said. “That’s exactly the sort of game they like to play.” He sipped his drink. “Some of them.”
“Ambrose wanted to cut my head off!” Eagle said bitterly. “You’d think I had raped her and sired triplets on her. I was cashiered, exiled, transported. Durendal arranged for me to escape and saw I had money.”
“That’s typical, too,” Wolf said. “But remember that Ambrose married her off to a pirate, poor child. And if she took the first chance she got to try and make what amends she could, doesn’t that suggest that she had been feeling guilty all those years?” He raised his glass. “To the Pirate’s Wife!”
Eagle grunted wordlessly, but he did drink the toast. Wolf waved for the servant in the corner to come and refill the glasses.
Eagle unwrapped the sword. He had forgotten just how fine an Ironhall blade felt to handle, the damask, the perfect balance. “I suppose I can regard this as my due.” He admired the engraving: Stoop. “Thank you. I will write and thank Grand Master.”
“What was the good news you were going to tell me?”
“Oh, nothing to get in a froth over,” Eagle said, squinting along the sword. “El Caudillo is in Mondon, Don Severo de la Cuenca himself! I told you they barely missed the hurricane. Even so, their ship got badly battered. He’s on his way Home to fame and riches. The King has made him a marquis.”
Although they were speaking Chivian, Wolf waited until the glasses were filled and the boy had gone before he responded. “I suppose he earned it. The world is certainly a better place without El Dorado. No more mass sacrifices, no more half-human monsters.”
“Nary a one,” Eagle said. “Not a building left standing in El Dorado itself, apparently, and he leveled every pyramid in the Hence Lands, so no more altars.”
“And no survivors?”
“None in El Dorado, anyway. Except the Marquesa, of course.”
“Who?”
Surprised by his vehemence, Eagle said, “The Marquesa. She’s pure blue-blood Distlish, apparently. She’d been a prisoner in El Dorado and was rescued during the sack. El Caudillo took a fancy to her and now he’s married her! The gossips barely pause for food or drink. A striking woman with red hair, I understand.”
Wolf stared very hard at him. “A prisoner in El Dorado?”
“So they say.” Eagle thought it over. “I don’t know if I believe it, though.” He chuckled. “Come with me next week and hear it from her own lips. Cuenca will be in Mondon for a few weeks; he and his wife. If you want to meet them, I can arrange it.”
Don Lope seemed to be studying the sunset. A group of bo
ys went racing past, kicking a ball and screaming at the top of their lungs in a mixture of Distlish and Tlixilian. In among them, fair-skinned and red-haired but as loud as any, went Edwin. Despite the awkward, lopsided gallop dictated by his twisted foot, he was keeping up. Only after the ball went bouncing away with the raucous gang still in hot pursuit did El Diablo turn to answer his guest’s invitation.
“No! Thank you, but no! I have absolutely no desire to meet El Caudillo or his Marquesa. I’d be much obliged if you see I am not even mentioned—brother.”
“Why ever not—brother?” Eagle smiled an I-told-you my-story smile.
Wolf scowled. “In confidence?”
“Upon my sword!” That was a good Blade oath he had not heard in years.
“Because if that Marquesa is who I think she is, she will take Edwin away from me.”
“You’re joking!”
“I am not joking!” Wolf’s snarl was fearsome. “And nothing on this earth will make me give him up to the likes of her!” He drained his glass and banged it down on the table beside him. “That boy saved my life. I mean that, literally. I needed a reason to keep going and I found someone who needed me as much as I needed him. I came from the same sort of background myself, and I had forgotten just how terrible it was—houses like holes in the ground, food that would sicken cattle. I rescued him. And he rescued me, because he’s why I’m still here.”
After a moment he shrugged as if ashamed of his vehemence, for he was not a demonstrative man. “I’d made a promise, see?”
About the Author
DAVE DUNCAN is an award-winning author whose fantasy trilogy The Seventh Sword is considered a sword-and-sorcery classic. His numerous novels include three Tales of the King’s Blades—The Gilded Chain, Lord of the Fire Lands, and Sky of Swords; two Chronicles of the King’s Blades—Paragon Lost and Impossible Odds; Strings; Hero!; the popular tetralogies A Man of His Word and A Handful of Men; and the remarkable, critically acclaimed fantasy trilogy The Great Game.
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Also by
Dave Duncan
THE CHRONICLES OF THE KING’S BLADES
Paragon Lost
Impossible Odds
TALES OF THE KING’S BLADES
Sky of Swords
Lord of the Fire Lands
The Gilded Chain
THE KING’S DAGGERS
Sir Stalwart
Crooked House
Silver Cloak
THE GREAT GAME
Past Imperative
Present Tense
Future Indefinite
Credits
Jacket design by Ervin Serrano
Jacket illustration by Paul Robinson
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
THE JAGUAR KNIGHTS. Copyright © 2004 by Dave Duncan. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
EPub Edition © AUGUST 2004 ISBN: 9780061809774
FIRST EDITION
06 07 08 09 10
About the Publisher
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Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Dedication
Author’s Note
Some Significant Dates
Contents
I: The Master First Lets Slip His Best Hounds
II: Skilled Huntsmen Knowing All Forms of Spoor…
III: The Chase is Reserved to the Lord… Lesser Orders [Hunt With] Snares and Nets
IV: On the Eve of the Hunt, the Lord Summons His Huntsmen, His Trainers, His Grooms…
V: Hearing the Horns’ Call and the Baying of Hounds, the Stag Taketh Flight
VI: Send Not Valued Dogs Against the Wild Boar in His Wallow…
VII: Birds of Prey Must Be Handled With Respect
VIII: The Mort is Sounded by One Long Calland Several Short
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Dave Duncan
Credits
Copyright Page
About the Publisher