Arto's Enchantress

by Morgan Henry

  “Thank you, Vizier.” Lady Cella sat in one of the chairs. Her parents were nestled together on a sofa and though the King sat in a plush chair no different from the rest around the low table, he made it his throne.

  Cella carefully laced her fingers in her lap. That way they would be less likely to get into their own brand of trouble.

  “Anything new from the Guild, my dear?” asked her mother.

  Cella sat a little straighter.

  Maybe this was about her news. She had just written to her mother thinking her parents would be at their country estate. They would not know as yet.

  “I have been accepted as a Master Enchanter. It will be confirmed at the spring celebration.” She couldn’t keep the pride out of her voice. She was one of the youngest to achieve Master status in the Enchanter’s Guild.

  Warm congratulations came from the three. Her parents hugged her and even the Vizier stood and gave her a small bow.

  The tightness in Cella’s chest eased. Perhaps this was what the summons was all about, a chance to tell her parents in person.

  Most students in the Guild would have to settle for the written word to tell of their achievements, or wait until a visit home was made, but there were always exceptions for high-ranking nobles. Not that Cella tried to take advantage, but some privileges came with being the Vizier’s niece.

  A servant entered with a full tea service, and they were busy for a moment with cups and saucers. The smell of the fragrant tea and sweetness of the spiced cakes wafted through the air.

  The servant left on soft feet, closing the door firmly.

  Cella’s chest tightened again. Full tea with the Vizier meant there was much more to come.

  “You know of the malairte with Kerban?” At Cella’s nod, the King continued. “I would think you would also know there were issues last year.”

  From what Cella had heard, issues was putting a pretty bow on a gerto and calling it a princess.

  Only one court lady had left for Kerban last year. However, the “lady” was more of a pit viper dressed as a butterfly.

  Most of the younger members of court knew this particular snake’s true colors. Unfortunately the King and members of his inner circle did not. She had been sure to keep her activities from reaching their ears.

  Apparently this woman had offended most of the ladies of the Kerban court, left a path of jilted lovers in her wake, and even owed money to the local merchants when she left. Disgusting.

  “It has left some tension between our two lands and keeping good relations with Kerban is a high priority for us.” The King sat his teacup down with a rattle.

  “The raids from the Bento tribes keep our soldiers busy enough, we don’t need to be worrying about the might of Kerban reaching across the mountains. The malairte this year will play an important part in restoring the friendship between the two nations. You will go and be our representative.”

  Cella wheezed and the room turned a little gray. “But Sire, members of the Guilds do not have to participate…”

  “Cella!” Her father spoke in the voice reserved for errant children and puppies.

  The cup in her hand fell to the floor and splashed hot tea across the expensive rug.

  “I’m sorry, Father, Vizier,” she apologized. Tea spilling aside, a person in Cella’s position did not question the request of the Vizier. Ever.

  “I didn’t think I should, er, would ever be chosen for such an…an important assignment,” she amended.

  Laying a hand on her father’s knee, her mother leaned closer to Cella. “My dear child, I know you are more than capable of representing Jorval in Kerban. You are intelligent and a quick study. I have no hesitation in placing my faith in you.”

  Her mother’s smooth voice had always soothed Cella’s troubles when she was a child, be they physical or emotional. It had been a long time since her mother had bolstered Cella’s spirits in this way.

  Cella knew she was too clumsy and shy to go to Kerban court, but they obviously needed a high-ranking noble, and she was the highest one eligible.

  “What of the Guild?” she asked.

  “You are now a Master, if not fully confirmed yet. Masters have leeway to travel and work where they wish. I will request they confirm you immediately and you will be free to go.” Cella had no doubt the King’s request would be granted. Though the Guilds were autonomous, there was no good reason to refuse.

  Cella stood and curtsied. “Thank you, Highest.” Liar. She didn’t feel grateful. “When shall I leave?”

  Chapter 2

  Cella had become used to the rocking of the covered wagon. It didn’t make her nearly so nauseous now. She sat in the back, looking at where they had been. At least it was better than riding.

  She had never seen eye to eye with horses. She was short, for one thing, so eye-to-eye was a virtual impossibility. They were so much larger and stronger than her in general. She was curvy, and didn’t have the muscle to deal with them.

  She never knew what the horses were going to do. How could she keep it from stepping on her toes? Did a snort mean it had a cold or was going to go wild and trample her to bloody bits?

  Cella knew her life was sheltered. She had seen little of life outside the Lithalla, aside from the occasional appearance at the Vizier’s court, but she didn’t care.

  She did care about her studies. She was an Enchanter. Now, a Master Enchanter. She could take objects and use kerfios to place a spell on them to varying effects. She could spell a small wand to emit a flame to light a candle. She could spell a ring or other jewellery to become a lero, a device to prevent pregnancy and transmission of sexual disease, or a hundred other things.

  She was powerful. She could do things by age fifteen that many Enchanters were wholly incapable of and now that she was twenty, she was even more powerful.

  For some reason, she was able to create new ways of manipulating kerfios to devise new enchantments. She loved it, despite the fact that more complex spells involved massive energy expenditure.

  It was the focus of her life and now she was sitting in a wagon, heading to Kerban, to do what?

  The wagons slowed and Cella poked her head around the covering to see why.

  “Nomarch,” she addressed her escort by his title as he rode past. “May I ask why we are stopping?”

  “This is where we are to meet the Kerbans, Lady Vallant,” he replied. “They do not appear to be here yet.”

  Cella looked around. They were deep in the low mountains dividing the two kingdoms.

  This was obviously a popular place to stop. A permanent fire pit was dug and lined with stones. There was a good-sized stream to the west of the clearing. The space was ringed by evergreens and there was even a makeshift corral for the horses.

  She knew the caravan was transporting breeding stock for some lord of Kerban and that he would escort her to Kerfaen and the King. The Nomarch knew this lord personally and vouched for his honor.

  She watched her companions herd the horses into the corral. It looked flimsy. Far too flimsy to hold the great beasts that the Nomarch was selling. They could easily get out in the night and everyone in their tents could be trampled to death.

  She approached the Nomarch.

  “Sirrah, I could strengthen those walls with kerfios to ensure the horses cannot escape.” Please, please let me.

  “Lady Vallant, such an expenditure of your power and energy is not necessary. These are well-trained horses and will respect the wood fence.”

  Though he kept his face impassive as he bowed, Cella could see the amusement in his eyes.

  Damn him for knowing her fears.

  She gave him a small nod and went to assist with the cooking.

  Before this journey, she had never cooked anything. Now she found it was fascinating how ingredients went into a pot and food came out. She could see so many opportunities for enchantments. Perhaps an object to heat food when there was no fuel for a fire or a pot that would not allow food to stick to it
s surface. The list she was keeping in her journal was growing.

  It was earlier than they usually stopped, so Cook was making a more elaborate meal than most nights. Cella enjoyed helping and lost herself in her simple tasks. It gave her some purpose in this horse-mad camp. She certainly wasn’t about to help unsaddle the beasts or do whatever it was to their feet that the riders all seemed so preoccupied with.

  She heard the jingle of bits announcing the arrival of strangers as they were dishing out the supper. Her heart hammered in her chest and her hand shook, rattling the spoon against the side of the pot.

  What would this lord be like?

  * * * *

  Arto and his companions had made good time. Twelve days of hard riding had them from the wedding to the rendezvous. The horses were doing well, they had plenty of additional mounts for their party, but Arto was tired.

  He planned to rest at this site for a day so they could all catch their breath and get to know the new horses a bit better. He also wanted to know how his little charge was going to behave.

  Looking over the group in the clearing, he didn’t see anyone whom he thought would be this Lady Cella. There was a very fine-looking little servant helping to cook.

  She was quite curvy despite her tiny stature. He bet she would only come up to his chest. Even so, she was robust enough to handle some energetic loving. She had lovely blonde hair that he could hold her still with as he took charge of her pleasure. He was too far to see her eye colour, but he planned to get much closer.

  Hearing a shout of his name, he headed closer to the fire pit.

  “Nomarch Ascar,” he greeted his friend. “It’s been too long.” Arto bowed formally, as did Ascar, then they exchanged a one-armed hug.

  “Arto, you are looking well! And your brother, he is well also?” Ascar gestured for Arto to be seated.

  Arto gave the reins of his horse to his man, Tors, and lowered his long body onto one of the logs around the fire. It was smooth from use.

  “Yes, we are both well. Merrin is married to the Countess of Clawynd and quite happy about it. I expect them to be churning out little Merrins before long. And you? Did your son win the heart of his Lady?”

  “Hiya,” Ascar affirmed enthusiastically, “they are to join at year’s end. He is at home, looking after the estate and stock.”

  Arto made a mental note to send a wedding present. Though it was often a year between visits, he and Ascar were good enough friends that a gift would be appropriate.

  The two men caught up on family events and court gossip for a short time.

  “You will eat, yes? We assumed it was your group we saw on the trail, so we made plenty. Most of us have already eaten, including me.” Ascar patted his flat belly and tilted his head toward the large pot that had a rather appetizing scent swirling around it.

  “If there is enough, then.” Arto gestured to his men to serve themselves. He watched the tiny blonde serve, her movements slow and measured. She didn’t look his men in the eye, but concentrated on each spoonful as if it were about to leap off the utensil and attack.

  She was lovely. For some reason, she made his body take notice. Particularly his cock. He would have to see if he could convince her into his tent tonight.

  At the jerk of Arto’s head, Tors gave Arto a bowl instead of serving his Duke. Arto made his way over to the little woman and bowed to her. “Have you eaten, little sola?”

  “No, your Grace, I have not.” Her voice was sweet and clear, though her eyes were lowered. He thought he detected a bit of court accent in her voice, not the lazier tones of a kitchen maid. Odd.

  “Well, we can’t have you going hungry. Would you join me?” Arto asked, trying his best to seem harmless.

  She stilled as she considered. “As you wish, your Grace,” she said with a formal nod of her head.

  She served him his meal and gestured to the camp bread at the side. He helped himself and watched as she served herself a small portion.

  She was wearing a plain blue gown with a modest scooped neck and long sleeves. It didn’t reveal much of her creamy skin, unfortunately. Examining it, he noted that though it lacked embroidery or other adornment, it was well made and of high-quality cloth.

  Up close he noticed her clear blue eye, when she dared look up, that is. He also saw her hands. They were strong, with long fingers, but lacked the roughened, chapped look that a kitchen maid’s should have. She lacked any real calluses.

  Who was this little blonde flower?

  Balancing his plate in one hand, he placed the other on the small of her back. She jumped and nearly lost her own meal.

  “I’m sorry, sola, I didn’t mean to startle you.” Arto rubbed her back a little. He wondered whether she would be so tense when he had her beneath him. He would certainly do his best to ensure she wasn’t.

  Her eyes flicked to his face, then down to her food again. “No apologies needed, your Grace. I am…somewhat clumsy.”

  Having seen the careful way she moved, Arto knew she believed this. He wasn’t so sure she was innately uncoordinated. He seated his little sunshine on one of the smooth logs and settled beside her, his thigh touching hers.

  “Ah, I see you have met your charge, Duke Arto.” Ascar smirked at him from the next log.

  Arto choked.

  Ascar laughed.

  His little sola said nothing.

  Arto cleared his throat and stood. “I should have asked for you at once, Lady Cella, er, Lady Vallant.” He bowed low. “My apologies, and it is my privilege to serve you.”

  Cella was silent for a moment, then stood and gave Arto a curtsey. “No apologies are needed, Your Grace. I do know the custom in Kerban is to address me as Lady Cella and I do not expect anyone to change that.” She sat.

  “May I ask why you are acting as a kitchen maid? I thought you may have been resting from your journey.” Arto started on his supper. It was very flavourful.

  There was a brief silence as Cella tapped her cup with her finger. Arto got the feeling she was weighing her words carefully.

  “This is a small party and everyone seemed to help in some way, your Grace. I did not have too many useful skills to employ, so I asked the cook to direct me in helping her. She has been very patient with me.” Cella started in on her meal as well.

  They ate quietly for a few minutes. The other conversations between his men and those in Ascar’s party could be heard over the pop and crackle of the fire.

  “Your Grace, may I ask why you call me ‘sola’?”

  Arto almost didn’t hear Cella’s quiet voice. He had been paying attention to a conversation about hunting gerto between two of his men.

  Arto turned to her. She was looking at him, but her eyes lowered when he tried to hold her gaze.

  “‘Sola’ is an old term for sunshine, my Lady. I thought it suited your blonde curls.” He considered whether to add his next thoughts. Ah, to hell with it. “It was meant to make you at ease, a term of…affection.”

  Her pale cheeks coloured. They would be beautiful flushed with arousal.

  “Thank you for explaining, your Grace.” Her plate was empty. “Nomarch, Nomara Sette said the women would go to bathe after dinner in a pool a short distance away. I believe I will accompany them if you have no objections.”

  “Of course not, Lady Vallant. There will be guards to keep all of you safe, but they will keep their eyes on the surrounding area, not on the ladies.” Ascar held out his hand for her dinnerware. She gave it to him, curtsied, and headed to the group of women beside the wagons.

  They greeted her with little noises of approval and laughter skittered across the clearing like leaves in the wind. They seemed to collect a number of items to take with them.

  Arto shook his head. Women always seemed to need more than just soap for a bath.

  “Well met, my friend.” Ascar was still laughing at Arto. “I should have pointed her out right away, but I was more interested in your news. I can’t say I’m sorry, though.”

&
nbsp; “I’m sure you’re not. They will be safe at this bathing pool?” Arto was not about to have any harm come to his charge in the first hours of meeting her.

  “Hiya, very safe.” Ascar waved a hand. “It is a pool fed by a hot spring, so the ladies love it. We have cleaned away the underbrush and picked out vantage points to watch the surroundings. My men will not allow harm to come to my wife, or to the niece of my Vizier.”

  Arto nodded in acknowledgement. Ascar was like Merrin, he would protect his wife with everything he had.

  “I think you had better tell me about the little sola,” Arto said. “She is not what I was expecting.”

  That was an understatement. Arto had expected, well, someone taller, for one thing. He had somehow thought she would be more pampered, being waited on rather than serving up dinner. He expected her to be clad in expensive silks and request heated water in her tent, not bathe in a forest pool.

  “She is interesting. She is a Master Enchanter, did you know?” At Arto’s shake of his head, Ascar went on, “She is young for this, hiya, but there is no one who would say she does not deserve it. From all accounts, she works very hard in the Guild, all the time. She is not often at court, and when she is present, she is quiet and considered to be above petty politics and wrangling for position.”

  “She is not wearing her badge.” Arto noted the absence of the red sash and gold pin of rank.

  “I noticed that, too. When I asked, she replied she knew everyone here was aware of her rank and they didn’t need a badge to remember.”

  “Ah.”

  “I have done you a favour, my friend.”

  “How is that, Ascar?”

  When Ascar leaned in and spoke in a slightly conspiratorial tone, Arto knew to worry. This would likely involve some of Arto’s money.

  “I have bought a very quiet, gentle mare for you to purchase from me. Virtually shy-proof. And I will only charge you what I paid for her. She is the little dappled gray picketed over by the second wagon.”

  Ascar pulled Arto up and they walked over to the horse.