by John Marco
‘As you can see I’ve brought my own men to protect me, Rodrik Varl, but your queen’s concern is appreciated. How far to Hanging Man?’
‘Not far, my lord. Bring your men and carriage across; we’ll reach the fortress by suppertime.’
Ravel nodded. Now that he was on the bridge he could see it was wider than he’d originally thought, stout enough for his elaborate carriage. ‘Very well,’ he agreed. He looked at Rodrik Varl, examining his grin for any sign of treachery. ‘I look forward to meeting your queen.’
They parted, and Ravel and his men returned to their side of the bridge. When they were out of earshot Colonel Bern began to mutter.
‘A dirty mercenary, that’s all he is. He’s not really a soldier at all, never was.’
The baron ignored Bern’s annoyance, climbed back into his carriage, and let his driver carry him over the bridge. Fifty of his soldiers preceded him, fifty came after. Rodrik Varl, true to his word, led them away from the bridge and south into Norvor, riding along the river Kryss toward Hanging Man. For the first few moments Ravel remained apprehensive. He scanned the horizon for any sign of ambush, but when he realised none was forthcoming he finally relaxed. He reminded himself that he was dealing with a woman. Jazana Carr would not ambush him; she wanted peace between them more than he did.
Perched on a cliff overhanging the river Kryss, the fortress of Hanging Man was like nothing Ravel had ever seen. It was a thousand-foot dive from the towers of Hanging Man to the churning waters below, but that was not how the fortress got its name. Years ago, Norvan kings had hung the bodies of traitors from the towers like flags, letting them undulate in the wind, a ghastly warning to anyone who opposed them. Surprisingly, the barbaric land had moved beyond that practice, but Ravel could easily imagine Jazana Carr or the deposed King Lorn reinstituting it. He was in a dangerous nation now and Baron Ravel had no illusions. If he offended Jazana Carr, she could easily send him back to Andola in pieces. The sight of Hanging Man reminded him of her power. As their caravan hoofed toward the fortress, slowly climbing the steep road that wound toward Hanging Man’s entrance, Ravel’s mind for numbers quickly counted up the men as he noticed them. Soldiers like the ones escorting him surrounded the fortress, parading through its dusty yards and standing watch in its towers. The standards of Norvor and a dozen of its conquered cities coloured the landscape, each pronouncing its loyalty to the Diamond Queen. The great stone turrets of the place stood stark against the blue sky. The scarred skin of the ancient fortress told its bloody history, its high walls pitted with dents from catapult shots, its crenellations smoothed by the freezes and thaws of countless seasons. For a moment, Baron Ravel envied Jazana Carr. In all of Andola — even in all Liiria — there was nothing like this fortress. It was an echo of another age, before men turned their fortunes to building libraries, and Ravel doubted the world would ever see its like again.
Anxious, he poured himself some wine. If Jazana Carr meant to impress she had already done a fair job, but he was not wholly worried. He had expected to see many more soldiers camped around the fortress, and he decided that the rumours of her strength had been ill-founded. This bit of knowledge relaxed him, and by the time his caravan crested the road he was once again confident he’d made the right decision. Rodrik Varl gave the order to halt and his Norvans stopped in the rocky yard. He waved Ravel’s carriage ahead and had Colonel Bern ride alongside it until they too reached the soaring gates of Hanging Man, where at last the carriage halted. His back aching from the rough ride, Ravel didn’t wait for Merwyn to open his door. He got out of the carriage, stepping down onto the Norvan soil with a thud. Bern dismounted and together the two men raised their gaze toward the fortress, ever upward toward its faraway peak. The shadow of the place swallowed the courtyard. Two enormous gates of black iron stood open before them, dwarfing them. Ravel peered into the dark maw and saw the bleak recesses of the fort.
‘Welcome to Hanging Man,’ said Rodrik Varl in his peculiar, laughing brogue. ‘Baron Ravel, if you’ll have your men dismount they may join you inside. Jazana Carr has arranged a welcome for you, with food enough for all.’
Ravel hesitated, but knew he could not refuse. ‘That’s very kind of your mistress. Colonel Bern, you come with me. Have the others remain behind to see to the horses and things. When we’re settled we can send for them.’ He smiled at Rodrik Varl. ‘I think it’s best I see your queen first, sir.’
‘As you wish,’ said Varl. ‘If you’ll follow me. .’
Passing through the enormous gates, Rodrik Varl left his own men in the yard and led the baron and colonel into Hanging Man, into a hall that was dark and wide and decorated with armour and old weapons. The dimness immediately made Ravel claustrophobic, a feeling that worsened as the hall funnelled them deeper into the keep. Handfuls of mercenaries passed them, along with servants and page boys, and Ravel’s mind for accounting continued to total up the numbers. A little smile curved his lips, totally hidden by the darkness of the hall. Though it baked in the Norvan sun the only light in the place came from oily torches. The smell of age and sweat belaboured Ravel’s already overworked lungs.
‘Is it all like this?’ he asked Varl. ‘So. . close?’
‘Not all, Baron,’ replied Varl lightly. ‘The feast room is much better. You’ll see.’
‘Will Jazana Carr be there?’ Ravel pressed. ‘I should like to see her as soon as possible.’
‘My lady lives by her own clock, Baron Ravel. Please, relax and enjoy her hospitality.’
Before he started grumbling, Ravel remembered his manners. Jazana Carr was Queen of Norvor, and this was her land. He offered Varl a diplomatic apology and continued down the hall. At last the dimness diminished. They entered a wide passage blessed with light from high windows. Ravel paused to catch his breath, then heard music. He cocked his head, discovering a pair of doors at the end of the vaulted hall.
Pipes, he told himself. More than one. And a lyre and a harp, too.
His mood buoyed, then improved even more when his keen nose detected food.
‘The feast room?’ he surmised, pointing at the distant doors.
‘Indeed, Baron,’ said Varl. ‘You’re tired, I know, but you’ll be able to rest there.’
‘I admit, I’m as hungry as a dragon.’ Ravel rubbed his chubby hands together. ‘Let’s have at it, then.’
Colonel Bern remained circumspect. They followed Rodrik Varl to the doors. There the bearded man paused, beamed his infectious smile, and pulled open the wooden portals. All at once the hallway flooded with music. Beautiful, accomplished music, the kind made by skilled hands and fine instruments. The doors revealed a giant chamber filled with banquet tables, lit by leaping torches, heavy with platters of food, sweet with flowers and panelled in warm, glowing wood. Servants dressed in white gloves and velvet tended to the tables or stood at attention while wenches filled tankards full of foaming beer. A trio of wine casks lined the far wall, and a bevy of metal plates teetered on a nearby table, stacked high as they waited for the crowd.
So far, though, there was no crowd. Not a single morsel of food had been touched, nor any of the tobacco pinched for pipes. Baron Ravel’s jaw hung open as he surveyed the room. He had expected a pleasant reception, but the feast before him left him dumbfounded.
‘All this. .’ He glanced at Varl. ‘For us?’
Rodrik Varl laughed. ‘As I said, my lord, Jazana Carr wanted to welcome you properly. Now, shall I send for the rest of your men?’
The feast Jazana Carr provided rivalled any of Ravel’s own back home, and though he was glad for it he was also oddly jealous. Clearly she had spared no expense. It seemed to the baron that his hostess was a braggart, because she had provided so much so easily. Still, Ravel was determined to enjoy himself. As suggested, he had sent for most of his men to join him, allowing them to gorge themselves on the queen’s hospitality. There were acrobats and jugglers, pretty girls for the men to admire, endless amounts of beer and wine, and music to del
ight even Ravel’s jaded ears. The expert musicians had his men dancing and singing alongside the Diamond Queen’s own soldiers, who had joined in the merriment a short time after it started. Jazana Carr had even provided a small dais for Baron Ravel, with a stoutly constructed, thronelike chair to support his great weight and soft upholstery to cradle his backside. There were four other chairs just like it at the dais, two for Bern and another of Ravel’s men, and one for Rodrik Varl. The fourth chair remained empty, however. This one, for Jazana Carr, was at Ravel’s right-hand side, and its vacancy irked the Baron. For two hours he and his men had slaked their varied thirsts, eating their fill and getting drunk on expensive wines, yet Jazana Carr had not appeared or even sent word to him. Ravel hid his anger by sampling everything the servants brought him. He consumed quail eggs by the dozen, pounds of briny chicken feet, countless wedges of cheese from Jerikor — which was his favourite and hard to get, even for him — and washed it all down with rivers of beer and wine. Because of his size he could drink litres without getting drunk and today he proved this fact to anyone who doubted it. Still, while the acrobats tumbled and the singers sang, Jazana Carr did not appear.
Then, just as Ravel felt his anger cresting, he saw her.
And like her feast, she was breathtaking.
The music stopped. The lyres quieted so the horns could trumpet her arrival. Rodrik Varl and the Norvan soldiers lowered their drinks and stood. Ravel hurried to follow this example, his own men doing the same. The tumblers in the centre of the room parted, making way for their mistress as Jazana Carr floated into the chamber. She was unannounced but she needed no introduction, for she was unmistakably the Diamond Queen, her body sparkling with gemstones that dangled from her ears and neck and fingers, her satin gown aglow with emeralds. Her face was magnificent, like polished alabaster, her hair a golden waterfall, long and looped with bronze braids. Her lips, moistly coloured ruby red, pouted as she surveyed the room, but her eyes leaped with girlish joy at the attention. The train of her gown rippled as she walked regally toward the dais, where Rodrik Varl pushed back his enormous chair and came forth to escort her, taking her dainty hand and kissing it. He smiled at his queen with an expression so full of love that it shocked Ravel. Jazana Carr paused before the dais and nodded at her guests.
‘My lord Baron,’ said Rodrik Varl, ‘please meet my lady, Jazana Carr.’
Baron Ravel stepped down from the dais and, straining, bowed the best he could. ‘My lady,’ he said softly, ‘this is a great honour for me.’
‘Baron Ravel, rise, please,’ bid Jazana Carr. She had a voice like a nightingale, soft and lyrical. She smiled at the baron, dazzling him. ‘You grace Norvor by coming here,’ she continued. ‘Not everyone would have done so. Thank you for making the trip.’
‘The trip, my lady, was well worth the sight of you. I would have crossed an ocean had I known how magnificent you are.’
Jazana Carr pretended to blush. ‘I have heard you are a man of taste, Baron. Your compliment honours me.’
Ravel put out a hand. ‘Then do me an honour, lady, and let me take you to your seat.’
With feline grace Jazana Car slipped her hand into the baron’s. Her grip was warm and smooth. Ravel held her hand gently, then brushed past Rodrik Varl to guide the lady up the dais. The slight sway of her hips enchanted Ravel. To say that she was magnificent was to understate the obvious. When they reached her seat Ravel paused and pulled back the enormous chair, bidding her to sit. The Diamond Queen smoothed the emerald ruffles of her gown and did so. At once, two of her exquisitely dressed servants rushed up to fill her glass and offer her food. Jazana Carr took the wine, declined the food, and settled in while Ravel took his seat. In a moment the entire gathering did the same, but they did not start speaking until the lady ordered the musicians to play once again. The instruments bloomed to life. The merriment resumed. Ravel turned confidently to Bern and gave a furtive wink.
‘My lady, you have embarrassed us with so much attention,’ he told Jazana Carr. ‘This celebration; it is all too much! My men and I are overwhelmed by your hospitality.’
‘It is a trifle, believe me, Baron Ravel,’ said the Diamond Queen. ‘And you are a man accustomed to good things. Surely I could have given you nothing less.’
‘I thank you, my lady, but my expectations have been royally exceeded. I came here expecting to talk, but this. .’ Ravel sighed. ‘This is fabulous.’
The compliment made the lady smile. ‘It pleases me to hear you say so, Baron. Of course we will talk, but first you should enjoy yourself. Business is best conducted on a full stomach.’
‘Lady, even my great stomach can only endure so much. We should talk, when you are ready of course. I confess that I’m anxious to hear your opinion on things.’
It was diplomatic speech, yet Jazana Carr seemed not to understand. She ignored the statement, raising her glass and cheering on the acrobats instead, who had taken up positions in front of the dais.
‘We’ll talk, my lord,’ she said finally. ‘In a while.’
Surprised, Ravel had to stop himself from pushing her. She was a silly woman, this Diamond Queen, obviously preoccupied with fun and pretty things. Ravel cultivated his patience. With a snap of his fingers he summoned a serving girl, who placed a platter of gravied meats under his nose for inspection. Ravel retrieved his fork and dragged slices of the meat onto his plate. A teenaged boy refilled his wine glass. The baron settled back into his chair. He made small talk with the queen, complimenting her on her good taste and the remarkable way she had managed to bring so many fine foods to such a desolate place. At this Jazana Carr sniffed. She told him with a wan smile that Hanging Man fortress was not really remote.
‘If you have money, nothing is remote,’ she said. ‘You must know that, Lord Ravel. You are a man of means, after all.’
‘True,’ Ravel replied. ‘I bring the best spices across the continent for my kitchens, the best wines, the best oils. Anything I want. The cost is unimportant.’
Jazana Carr raised her glass to him. ‘People like us should have no concern of such things.’
Like us. The phrase irked Ravel.
‘You are indeed wealthy, my lady. This celebration proves that. Still, it must be very expensive for you.’
The queen shrugged. ‘I suppose.’
Again she turned to the tumblers, who had been joined by an obnoxious juggler who took four plates off the dais and began tossing them into the air. The crowd cheered and so did Jazana Carr, but not Ravel. The baron looked around the room and considered the expenses. How many soldiers were there in Hanging Man, he wondered? And how much did it cost to feed them all? Just the transport fees alone should have been ruinous.
A ruse, he decided. Her ease at paying for such grand opera was a pretence. It could not be anything else. Almost unconsciously he stretched out his hand, laying it across the table near Jazana Carr so that she could see his many rings. She glanced down at his hand for a moment, but only because it distracted her. Still, he seized the moment.
‘Ah, you admire the rings,’ he said. He wiggled his fingers and smiled. ‘I know you’re an expert on gems, my lady. Here. .’ He slipped a ring off his index finger, a fat band of gold with an enormous diamond. ‘Tell me what you think of this.’
Jazana Carr raised her eyebrows politely. ‘Oh, yes, it’s very nice,’ she purred. ‘Diamonds with cuts like that are from Marn. We don’t do that cut in Norvor. Look, let me show you the difference. .’
Now she proceeded to slip off a ring, this one larger than Ravel’s with an even more stunning diamond. ‘Here, you see?’ With her long fingernail she pointed out the differences. ‘Mine is Norvan. See how fine the cut is? Facets like that reflect more light.’
‘Mine came from a Marnan duke,’ said Ravel. ‘You may have it if you like.’
The hint of a crack appeared on the lady’s alabaster face. ‘You’re very kind, Baron. I think, though, that I have enough diamonds.’
Ravel pushed
the ring closer to her. ‘Please, my lady, take it. It is nothing to me. If I wanted a hundred like it I could snap my fingers and make it so.’
‘Yes,’ drawled the queen, ‘I’m sure you could.’ Still, she left the ring there on the table, right next to her own. Her sparkling eyes regarded Ravel peculiarly. ‘You seem eager to talk about wealth, my lord. I suppose it is always so with great men of business like yourself.’
‘Forgive me, my lady,’ said Ravel. ‘I have so much of it, you see. It preoccupies me. To run as many holdings as I have requires all my attention, day and night.’
Jazana Carr gritted her pretty teeth. ‘I see,’ she said tightly. ‘Baron Ravel, perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should talk now and discuss what brought you here.’
‘Oh, I agree, my lady. And I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll come to an arrangement that is generous to you.’
Jazana Carr put down her glass and, with her free hand, took hold of Rodrik Varl’s arm. Varl snickered, shaking his head, and sipped his own drink. Ravel smiled at the queen, confused, as the music and merriment went on around them.
‘Baron Ravel,’ chuckled Jazana Carr, ‘have you come here to offer me something?’
Ravel hesitated. ‘My lady, forgive me. I’m not sure what you’re asking. I came to Hanging Man because you agreed to talk with me.’
‘That’s right,’ replied the queen. Her smile never waned, and Ravel could not decipher what was amusing her. ‘Baron, you’re right. I did accept your offer to come speak with me.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘And?’
‘And. . well, I’m here.’ Ravel returned her questioning glance. ‘Aren’t you going to offer something?’
Jazana turned to Rodrik Varl and started laughing. ‘You see, Rodrik? What did I tell you? All men are like this!’
Baron Ravel leaned back, wondering what was happening. Next to him, Colonel Bern went stiff.