Though it pained him even to speak of Karlene, it was better than having to be near her, better than having to look her in the eyes. Within a manner of weeks, he had quite the information network set up, servants often coming to him before he ever sought them out for what they had seen. They always left with a copper coin or two in their hand, for Nikolis now had a small weekly stipend for his services. This tribute of thanks assured they came back again when they knew more.
It was only by mere chance that he rounded a corner one day, while walking down a hallway of the keep, and found her there, steps in front of him. It was apparent that Karlene had been heading toward the same corner, albeit from the opposite direction, and now they stood eye to eye – shock apparent on both of their faces. Nikolis’ mind raced for something, anything, to say to her. There was a vortex of emotions swirling inside of him: anger and sadness, joy and jealousy and expectation, all roiling together.
When he was finally about to open his mouth, she shot him an exaggerated smile, batted her eyelashes in mock flirtation and then turned and walked the other way. Nikolis balled his hand into so tight a fist that blood began to seep out where his nails cut into his skin. He slammed his fist into the stone well, sending a shock of pain into his hand, both where he had struck it, and in the wounds now embedded in his palm. He gritted his teeth and took the sensation, not crying out, reveling in the agony as an escape from his emotions.
With a somewhat different feeling, a decidedly odd feeling, he later stepped out, onto the green grass of the keep yard. A few months ago, he would have spent much of his time here. Either practicing on the green, or asleep in his room in the master of arms’ tower beyond – the clank of the smithy’s hammer, and the neigh of horses, familiar companions. More and more the entire place seemed foreign to him, however. Memory, familiarity, it seemed, faded so quickly.
He had come to find Jak, to visit him he told himself. Realistically, in the back of his mind he knew that he had come seeking solace, but he was trying his hardest to convince himself otherwise. Treading the still familiar path to the field armory, he stepped up to the open doorway and peered inside.
No one was there. Then, from a back room, a small boy appeared pushing a broom about the floor. He was young, of perhaps eight years, and he had a mop of brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t been cut in months. Nikolis watched as he stirred up piles of dust, sending them swirling into the air, the tiny specs picked out in the slanted rays of sunlight that entered through the square windows cut into the wood-planked walls. The boy looked to be a nice enough fellow. Nikolis wondered when he had started working here.
He was about to turn away, when the boy froze in place and looked up. Apparently, he had finally noticed the man standing in the doorway. “Oy, what are you doing there?” the boy demanded, clutching tightly to the pole of the broom in his hands.
“I was looking for someone,” Nikolis replied, repressing laughter. The small boy was so youthful, so full of energy. “He appears not to be here.”
“Master Jak’s the only one works ‘ere but me and he ain’t in.”
Hearing his friend referred to with that honorific did make Nikolis laugh. “Master Jak?”
The boy put his hands on his hips, none too pleased with the older man’s apparent mirth, it seemed. “Aye, that’s what I said.”
“That’s who I was looking for.”
“What you want with ‘im? You don’t look like a guard, or one o’ the noble child’n.”
Nikolis couldn’t help but smile at how this boy was apparently protecting his friend. It was heartening. If anyone deserved such respect and apparent admiration, it was Jak. He took a step forward into the light. The grey of his coat became clearly visible.
The boy’s mouth dropped open and he took a step backward. “I’m sorry, sir. Didn’t mean no offense, I didn’t.”
“What’s your name?”
“Geffin,” the boy replied, folding his hands together over the broom handle in his grasp, as if pleading.
“You never need call me, sir, Geffin,” Nikolis replied. “I was only looking for Jak. He’s a friend.”
“Oy, of course, sir. He went to the kitchens, sir. For lunch.”
“Thank you, Geffin,” said Nikolis, and then he turned back toward the yard. He made his way toward the keep and when he was just passing the red-hot fire of the keep forge, he heard and then felt a thundering impact. He turned to see a tall, large, man chopping wood beside the smithy.
The man was bare-chested, sweat glistening on a muscled abdomen littered with curls of dark hair. He was young by all appearances, with dark hair long enough to fall into his eyes. Nikolis watched as the young man set up a block of wood on top of the thick stump of a tree. Then he raised his axe high into the air and brought it down with such brute force that it split the block in twain and sent the pieces flying out in either direction. Without pause he set up another block and brought the axe down again. The iron head glistened in the sun each time he raised it, the blade clearly sharp as a razor. When it came crashing down it split the wood before it like a knife through lard. Sometimes the axe came down with so much force that it managed to become embedded in the log in front of it a full four of five inches. But this did not deter its wielder, for with unfathomable ease he pulled the head from the stump and set up the next block once again.
The thought ran through Nikolis’ head for a moment that he would not like to be the block of wood the axe-wielder was taking out such aggression on. It was not the type of axe one might use in battle, but Nikolis knew full well that it did not matter. Wielded as it was by this man, as much an extension of his being as Nikolis’ own sword, it would be deadly. As he was about to continue on his way to the keep, the young man looked up, and their eyes met. There was something recognizable in the other man’s face. Something dark, something that made him feel decidedly uneasy, but also something that he felt he knew. Something familiar.
“Garren,” said the smithy, coming out from the forge, “that’s enough for now.” Garren, yes, that was it. Garren Bair. The boy that he had attempted to befriend all of those years ago, the boy that had punched him in the arm every time he tried to speak to him. No one ever wanted to talk about Garren Bair. They always only said to leave him be, not to bother him. That must be the familiarity he saw – nothing dark, nothing dangerous. But then, why was Garren Bair staring at him so?
Without a word the hulk of a man, ignoring the smith, bent down and picked up another block of wood. He kept his eyes locked with Nikolis’ own the entire time. There was some strange sense of darkness in that look, that wouldn’t allow Nikolis to turn away. The young man set up the block, raised his axe into the air and brought it crashing down with such force that the wood exploded into splinters.
“What’d you do that for?” asked the smith, shielding his face. “What good’ll those bits do us?” Garren didn’t answer. He only stood up straight, wiped the back of his arm across his forehead, hefted his axe onto his shoulder, and walked away. For a moment Nikolis thought about approaching the smith and asking him what he knew of the man. But he decided against it. Such inquiries had never done him any good, and he imagined they wouldn’t in this situation either. The smith would surely be reluctant to tell him anything about the mysterious young man.
Departing the yard, Nikolis found his way to the keep kitchens, and into the dining hall. There, it was easy to spot Jak, with Garley and Raife of course, and Evar and Lirk as well – all of them eating and drinking and happy. How well they all seemed together. Well enough, at any rate, and without him. He watched them for a while, thinking it not proper to intrude, after all he had not been invited. No need to complicate things, not with all of them there. It was Jak he had sought, but finding him not alone, he did not feel right assuming a place amongst them.
“You’re the same,” Raife spat, lunging across the table at his brother, shattering the serenity of the moment. Lirk easily lurched away and avoided the grasp of his smalle
r sibling. “You and father are just alike. Least soon enough you will be. Bloody butchers.”
Lirk laughed and wiped away some mashed turnip that the upset had spattered on the red and white tabard of his station. “You got spirit, you little rat. I’ll give you that. But as for backbone, well, you ain’t got none as father and I do.”
The insult was twofold, targeted at both the obvious reference to integrity, but also in this case, referencing Raife’s hunched shoulder, the deformity of his birth. Raife let the insult glance off of him. He only stared at his brother, seething. Rage was apparent in the flush of his face, and the burning of his eyes. Lirk finally stood and pushed his now empty plate toward his brother. “Best we get going, Evar,” was all he said, and then he headed for the door.
For Evar’s part, he stood and took his plate. He looked down and tried to smile at Raife. The effort was not successful. He then looked over to the departing form of Lirk while he cleared his plate. “He doesn’t mean it,” Evar said, before making off after him.
Nikolis felt like he should do something, first his anger was targeted at Lirk, whom he had never liked. But then, when more rational thoughts prevailed, he thought of going to Raife and saying something. When he looked back, however, Jak and Garley were already there, speaking in tones so hushed he could not hear what they were saying.
As usual Raife was trying to brush it all off, but he looked better for their words. It was clear there was nothing Nikolis was needed for here, and so he too left the dining hall behind. For reasons he could not explain he saw Raife’s face again in his mind, only it soon became that frightening gaze Garren had given him out in the yard.
As Nikolis walked the corridors of the keep some hours later, the stale air of the passageways heavy with moisture, he finally managed to clear his head enough of the dark, horrible face of Garren Bair, to start thinking about other things. Inevitably the Lady of Highkeep always managed to wriggle her way back into his thoughts. She was his charge after all, and there was no putting aside his duty. His network of observers had told him little lately, and he knew that sooner or later he would have to check in on her personally. He thought that he might perhaps talk to her, or at least write a letter, despite telling himself that he was already failing in the logical decision to let go of that which he had never really possessed.
Finally, he could take it no longer and he sought the refuge of his chamber. Quill was put to parchment, though all the while he told himself the effort was futile, and he poured his feelings out onto the page. What he felt for her, what he hoped, what he did not understand about her behavior that horrible night after the festivities. When it was done, he sat back and stared at it, watching the wet words dry onto the sheet of parchment, not bothering with sand or blotting. His eyes scored over the words. He thought himself a fool. But, for whatever reason, he stood anyway, folded the note into quarters, and stuffed it into his coat pocket.
The sun had fully set as he walked the hallways of Highkeep once again, the passageways only illuminated now by candles in iron sconces, dripping wax and throwing harsh orange light about the cold stone walls. Over and over again, his mind demanded he not do what he was about to, but all the while his feet went on. Down this corridor, and up that stair, around the corner, and down the hall, until finally he came to Karlene’s chamber. He raised his hand as if to knock, but then thought better of it, instead taking the note from his pocket and sliding it under the door.
With quiet footsteps he retreated from the high reaches of the castle and back toward his own chamber. He found his room none too soon, quietly opening the door and entering. However, when he entered it was immediately apparent to him that something was not right. He stumbled toward the table beside his bed and lit the small lantern there.
The room was soon filled with a soft orange glow, revealing a woman sitting on the edge of his bed with her back to him, naked as the day she was born. She was just lifting a corner of the bedclothes and sliding underneath. The sudden light did not seem to perturb her, as if she had been expecting it. Turning, she came about, pulling the blanket about her body and facing him. “Hello, Nikolis,” Toleah Simms whispered with a smile.
Nikolis retreated a step. “H-hello,” he stammered. He didn’t know what to say. Many moments of silence elapsed as he waited for her to start talking. She didn’t; she only stared at him, her face angled downward, her eyes looking up at him. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?” Her chest heaved up and down under the covers. The words she spoke were in whispers, yet there was a breathless quality to them.
“I-I don’t know,” he managed. A pale arm come from underneath the blankets and went to her characteristic bun of brown hair. Pins were taken out and the hair was released, flowing down like a cascade of water, spilling onto her shoulders. Toleah was pretty, he thought. A bit homely perhaps, but pleasant to look upon. She was a few years older than him, plump where Dally had been skinny to the point of malnourishment.
Toleah reach an arm out to him, as if to bring him to her. The movement caused her grasp on the blanket to become compromised, allowing a corner of the material to slip down, ever so slight. This revealed the curve of a pale breast, round and plump. “Don’t you?” she replied. In his mind Nikolis thought that he shouldn’t go any closer, that this wasn’t right. It was Karlene that had his heart, not Toleah. The keep servant had always seemed indifferent too him, even annoyed by him. Why is she doing this?
Yet he found himself moving toward that outstretched palm, moving closer to the bed, his bed, where this girl lay naked beneath the blankets.
When he got close enough her hand snaked about his waist, drawing him closer. She slid it up his body and started to pull him down. Nikolis found himself following her lead, allowing himself to be drawn down to her. Blood boiled in his veins. She started speaking then, that same low whisper. “I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, ever since I was first called in to tend to your wounds.” Her hand went to his shoulder, and then to his face, tracing the line of his jaw. Then she put her arms about his neck, letting go of the blanket altogether.
Nikolis found himself being drawn in ever closer, and not resisting it. The warmness of her body was so tangible now. Without thought he put a hand to her side, and let it slide down the curve of her body – so soft, so supple, like nothing he’d ever felt before. There was a sense of desire in the hands at his neck as they drew him in. Their faces neared, lips coming ever closer together. “I love you,” she whispered.
Like a bolt of lightning Nikolis’ sense shot back. He stopped, pulled away.
“What?” she asked, worry creasing her brow.
That is what this was about to her – love. She loved him. What did he feel for her? Certainly not that. Before today he had not thought about her much at all. She had only been about the keep, had taken care of him a few times, persisted in helping him. Should he have known? Should he have seen it? To go forward with any of this would be unfair to Toleah. What more, it would be unfair to himself, and to the one he did feel that way about.
“I can’t,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“What is it?” She drew the blankets about her body again and sat up.
“It isn’t right.”
Toleah smiled at that. It was a look that was only confusing to him. “Do not fret over propriety. I know that you will do the right thing when the time comes. I have watched you. I am not a fool. I am not a lack-wit. You have honor. There is no reason we cannot indulge tonight…and make things formal later.” There was a wholly devious look on her face at the last, one that made his toes curl despite himself.
With what risk that would mean, Nikolis knew Toleah Simms for an amazing woman. If her parents were to find out, if word were to spread about the keep…that is how serious she was. It only meant all the more that he could do nothing. Despite the fact that if his body had its way, he would rush to her, take her in his arms, and join her beneath those blanke
ts, his heart and his head dictated otherwise. There would be no honor in it, for it would be false – to her and to him.
“Toleah, I–”
A knock sounded at his chamber door.
Nikolis froze in terror. The two of them waited in silence. Then the knock came again. Who could possibly be at his door at this hour? Was there some important matter about the keep that he was being summoned for? Was it Toleah’s mother, or worse her father? Maybe it was her brother, large, with thick arms and a pugilistic temper. Does she have a brother?
Nikolis raised a hand as if to beg silence as he backed toward the door. It was difficult to take his eyes off her, for fear of what was about to come, but he finally did turn and face the inevitable. He stepped up to the door as quietly as he could manage. The cold, steel latch was heavy in his hands. The door creaked as he slipped it open, ever so slightly. As his eyes sought to adjust to the dark of the hallway the door went flying inward and someone pushed him into the chamber.
“Oh, Nikolis!” Karlene cried, taking his face into her hands. “I knew he was wrong, I knew it wasn’t as he said it was. I knew what you really felt for me, I knew that you–”
Whatever words were to come then died forever in her throat when her eyes chanced to find his bed. She backed away from him, looking from the bed to his face, and then down at her feet. Toleah was stiff as a board, clutching his worn blanket to her breast, in a fist white with exertion. Nikolis felt more helpless than he ever had in his entire life. There was not a thought in his head; it was empty, devoid of anything. Utter futility was all he felt, there was nothing he could think to say or do, that would counter the look of hurt and shock that was etched on the beautiful face of the Lady of Highkeep.
“I-I didn’t mean…” Karlene started, almost apologetically, looking toward Toleah. Then she found his face again. “He was right,” she breathed. Tears lined her eyes; her lips trembled as she spoke. “Erad was right.”
The Last Swordsman Page 25