Paladin's Oath

by M. H. Johnson

  Verona felt a cold wave of dread wash down her spine. She had to clamp her will firmly to keep from whimpering in terror. “My lord,” she whispered, unable to keep the panic from her voice. “To tell me such things! I beg of you… I have served you well and faithfully. Never have I denied you my talents or… anything.”

  Her master's eyes became sharp, tinged with faint disapproval. "Don't crack on me now, my poppet. Fear not. You are too useful a creature to me, to us, to throw you away cheaply. You need not fear your being privy to this knowledge is the first card of your final hand. I know well how limited your ambition is. I know what you value, my dear. Security. A steady purse to dote upon your son. A gentle lover who will demand no more than you can give. Everything is about your son. You would suffer any indignity for his benefit. I know this already, dear Verona. Which is why I know that I can trust you. Utterly and completely. As does the king."

  His fierce knowing grin, a gaze that peered almost mockingly at the most vulnerable parts of her soul, eased into something almost gentle. "We have fine plans for the boy of someone who has served her king so well. His father's noble title are grounds enough for a significant fiefdom to be awarded under his care in honor of royal services rendered by his utterly loyal family. Prestige and security such that none of his mother's relatives could later maneuver so as to demean him, belittle him, sabotage his estates or his future. Tell me, my dear Verona, could you dream a sweeter dream than that for your child?"

  Verona, heart racing no less fast, now beating for the sake of her son, shook her head mutely.

  “Of course not, dear Verona. You see? The king knows well your loyalty and service, and we reward those who serve us with such constant love and devotion as you have, as your family has, my dear Lady Verona.”

  Holding back hot tears she wanted to believe were happiness, she nodded as solemnly and gratefully as she dared, even here in their little private corner of the loud, boisterous inn. “My eternal gratitude to my king and to you as well, my master.”

  Sir Gray smiled hungrily. “It fills me with such… joy when you can acknowledge that truth, my dear. It is true, you know. I am your master, and you my hound.” He nodded. “I am a good master. You, my dear, can expect good things, as can your pup, for serving me, and the king, so very well.”

  “Of course, Sir Gray.” Her reply was husky and she favored him with a sultry glance, knowing from their many amorous encounters exactly what he needed to feel and to hear when he gazed at her in his special way.

  He nodded, cool and professional once more. “Now you must hear the rest of the machinations in play before we can fully appreciate our next step. For allow me to give you the benefit of your cynic’s mindset, dear Verona. Allow me to play devil's advocate. What if, perchance, it is all poppy induced delusion? What if these ventures into dreams are nothing more than ancient spells of mass hypnosis mastered by the Guild generations before, and passed down to keep their institution's relevance in play, the nobles in check, and assure their prestige and might in the political spectrum, that glorious arena we call Court? What if our dear Jess is nothing but a pawn, or perhaps a willing piece herself, whose training and natural charisma has made her ideal for her role as noble hero destined to change the face of Dawn, and it is all a façade?

  “What possible reason could there be for such a complex, long drawn out performance, necessitating such planning and barbaric, showily orchestrated deaths?”

  Verona shuddered. “I can think of only one reason.”

  Her master’s voice was cold. “Say it.”

  She closed her eyes and breathed deep. “To fan the Royal Family’s fear of ancient Rites of Claimance being rediscovered, to insight desire to possess such a gift, to all but compel them to make a bid for her. And, being sent vulnerable into the lion’s den, so to speak, in dress and silk slippers to be harried over by bitter old maids, alone and vulnerable, far from the armaments that had once made her so fierce. What, after all, could make her appear more vulnerable, more desirable than that? A perfect helpless maiden fit for a hungry prince to claim. Her vulnerability would make her all the more desirable, all the more enticing. No threat at all, but a tool to be used.”

  Verona swallowed, gazing into those cold, unreadable eyes. "Yet all along, the true people using her would be her family, carefully training her for her future position as a wife to royalty. No doubt doing their utmost to teach her how to best manipulate her future husband for her family's own ends. And those earlier recorded encounters at the College, in the midst of some ancient town now conveniently lost to history, even at the Turnsby Estates, all of that could be but a dreamspice induced smokescreen to add legitimacy to ‘discovery' of the magic of Primacy, so that none see it for the ruse it truly is. For who better than an agent such as myself, or a Squire of War trained in intrigue, to know how easy it can be to poison a target's drinking glasses, if one has unlimited time to learn the routines of guards and help?"

  Sir Gray nodded. "Precisely. And the Guild would have so much to gain if one of its protégés were to not only gain the ear of a prince, but his bedchambers as well." His grin became fierce, wolflike. "And that is the dilemma, my dear Verona. The hand she appears to have been dealt would be a tremendous boon for the master of both our fates to claim. But, if it is a bluff, carefully orchestrated by other players in cahoots…why then, you see, we must wipe all those players from the board." Eyes suddenly hard as ice locked upon her own, and she shuddered and looked demurely downward, nodding her head in agreement, until his finger gently tilted his head upward and to her surprise, he kissed her right then and there, hot and fierce.

  Her breath hitched, the maelstrom of anxiety, hope, and uncertainty overwhelming her and too easily being turned to an aching desire for passionate release, and in her heart of hearts, she hated how well Sir Gray could manipulate her and pull her strings. It did not stop her from demurely following him when he gazed at her hungrily and led her up the tavern stairs to one of the bedrooms for guests, nor from biting her lip and moaning at his hot caresses, her own aching need for release soon taking hold, and she enticed herself to find sweet satisfaction in his knowing caresses, losing herself to the throes of passion.

  It was as he said. For her son. All for her son. In her heart of hearts, she knew the unspoken threat behind his captivating offer. Should she succeed, her son would become a landed lord with title and income; his own man, beholden to no one save the king himself, hopefully able to enjoy life with a warm smile on his face. Should she fail… it was too awful to think about. Especially now, when she needed to be soft, hungry, pliable, submissively sensual and utterly dominated. She would do anything for her son, even be Sir Gray's willing whore and assassin.

  39

  Sir Gray was, of course, coolly formal and professional the entirety of the following week, as she prepared for her role as an invitee of the Calenbrys, taking advantage of the open invitation to the nobility, rare as it would be for those near the capital to even bother to attend. Thus her cover story was that of a noble lady visiting family property recently inherited, for which Sir Gray had produced a deed, and taking advantage of the gala as a wonderful opportunity to meet the overlord of the barony her estates were a part of.

  From what she had been able to read and gather, the father and son were the ones who represented the face of the Calenbry clan at Court; the son following his father’s lead like a dutiful heir, having avoided all scandal and even rumors of associations with the noble ladies of marriageable age who attended various Court functions, which was a rare feet of discipline for such a young man, though had led to some slanderous rumors that the son was interested in men, not a future wife. Regardless, the baron’s positions were always moderate, open to compromise, and never veered significantly from the advocated royal position. Lady Agda de Calenbry appeared to play a far subtler game. She rarely attended Court directly. Yet as Lord Gray had noted with ever growing admiration, she had still been responsible for more than one fav
orable trade policy and the fall of several boorish lords from grace, all by the use of various intermediaries and catspaws.

  Yet the Calenbry men were nothing less than pillars of stability compared to the numerous potential firebrands that moved in dark currents about the Court, ready to ignite possible flames of insurrection, or so her master feared. Indeed, had the Calenbry's eldest daughter not been in play, they would not have been given a second thought with so many other potential threats to smother, seeming far more interested in keeping the peace, and themselves in good royal standings, than they were maneuvering for political power, or even for mercantile influence.

  The Calenbry serfs and freemen were among the best-trained pikemen in the kingdom, more than ready to answer the king's call for levies, should war once more rock their fair nation. Yet the Calenbrys were diligently proper in their own affairs, hosting no more professional armsmen for their personal residences than the King's Writ allowed for a baron, no matter that his holdings were the size of the largest of duchies. Most significant, all the taxes raised went directly to the Crown, never mind the near universal practice of named lords adding an extra tithe to their underlord's taxes for their personal benefit. It had become so commonplace over the years as to be the norm, and a practice the king let pass, as did his sire before him, for any number of prudent reasons, Verona was sure. The Calenbrys' own income from their personal lands was derived primarily from their apple and pear orchards, their fruit considered some of the choicest in the kingdom, and their fine apple brandy was to be found in the most refined of lords' halls and drinking establishments. On the surface, they appeared guilty of nothing more adventurous than introducing the Court to the purity and potency of their daughter's herbs and tinctures, exceedingly popular with healers and alchemists in the know. Yet the results of their child's unusual affinity with plants, which some considered a heretofore lost druidic art, had been the only extra source of income the Calenbrys had claimed in several years, the baron having ceased all other mercantile pursuits he had once dabbled in, for reasons that were not entirely clear.

  They gave no past or current indications that they cared for anything save stability, though it made Verona's own mission no less vital, merely indicating that she would have to be open to whatever she discovered, even if it rocked her very perceptions of reality. If this child truly had discovered the lost art of Primacy, that ancient magic capable of forging unbreakable bonds between a ruler and their land, Verona would have to proceed very carefully indeed.

  She had chosen a sober light blue gown for the gala that she felt complimented her eyes. Having little feel for the habits of nobility outside the rather jaded capital, she decided to play a very formal, reserved role. To quietly and unobtrusively observe the proceedings, a harmless spectator, which would hopefully allay suspicion.

  Even as her carriage crested the hill onto the Calenbrys’ personal estates she couldn’t help but feel a sense of wonder, awed by the beautiful rural landscape before her. Signs of abundant fecundity and a well cared for land were evident wherever she looked. Fields of richly growing crops were everywhere, looking more like a painter’s vision of the most abundant of harvests than the reality of every other farming village she had seen on her way here, interspersed with copses of well cared for apple groves, branches overburdened with lush looking fruit, apparent even from this distance. And the air. Never had she smelled air so fresh, so pure.

  Never had she felt such a connection to the woodlands and fields around her as she did in that moment, seated comfortably in her well-sprung carriage, gently traveling along the well-kept road, savoring the rich floral scents as she beheld the vast bucolic splendor that the Calenbry lands were whispered to possess, envious rumors which she had always thought of as mere fancy before now.

  It was then that the seeds of doubt that had plagued her from the very beginning, had of a sudden blossomed into a grove of wonder and terrifying possibility, challenging all her preconceptions, and she was forced to genuinely ask herself, what if it were true? What if the young woman she was to investigate, not yet a full score years in age, truly had mastered the magic of Primacy? It would explain how the land blossomed so richly, Verona herself feeling as if she had been somehow transported to a realm out of dream. The incredible pastoral beauty before her, like a scene from one of the great room-sized panels within the royal palace itself, could at least be explained if one with the blood of ancient rulers and their connections to the land walked amongst them once more, after all these centuries.

  Of course, it was possible that the Calenbry's were merely exceedingly gifted farmers and strategists, and this but the cleverest of ruses, though how one caused such ripe splendor to manifest this late in the season was completely beyond her. No matter. She was skilled at her craft, with many unorthodox talents at her disposal. She would find the truth, one way or another.

  She promised herself only that she would keep an open mind. For the lush fecundity of the land around her, if it could be coaxed to blossom forth throughout the kingdom in its entirety, would mean that famine, starvation, and children of poor circumstances being forced to face emaciation and a cruel death might one day be a thing of the past. And that possibility touched her heart, as it would any mother. Thus, however jaded and cynical life forced her to be, Verona would demand an open mind of herself. For if there was the slightest possibility that those ancient legends had blossomed forth in reality, in the form of this girl, then Verona must do all she could to aid Jessica's claim. If it turned out to be true, Jessica would be far too important a pawn for the Crown to casually throw away. Indeed, if her gifts would allow her to put an end to famine in Erovering, and perhaps even farther afield, Jessica de Calenbry just might be the most valuable piece on the board, save for the king himself.

  As her carriage at last approached their designation, Verona found herself admiring the grand proportions of the massive residence before them, sprawling affair that it was. In most places it rose at least three stories high, a mighty presence on the horizon. Yet it welcomed, somehow, as opposed to being intimidating, for all that it was truly a palatial structure. It was constructed of strong and well cared for hardwood, slate tile roofs, and glass paned windows, many open to allow the late afternoon breeze to circulate through.

  It was only then as they crested the slight rise before heading down to the front courtyard and a host of elegantly appointed carriages that she noticed what must have once been an earlier fortification made long before the present sprawling structure that adjoined it. One look at its grim stone construction was all she needed to know that the Calenbrys did indeed have a backup defensive position if needed.

  So different this place was from the crowded capital, alive with the excitement of crowds and the stench of filth and poverty, where wealth beyond the dreams of most mortals might shift between the true power brokers of the kingdom in a matter of days, yet where even the most expansive of palatial retreats could not compare to the size of this one sprawling country mansion. And the air. So fresh and free of the stink of sewers. Utterly delightful, for all that Verona occasionally caught a whiff of good, honest animal manure, no doubt vital for healthy crops.

  Her manservant gave her a friendly nod even as the coachman pulled their horses to a stop. “We are here, my lady. I shall have the doorman announce you.” The man possessed an honest face which made him perfect for the role, and the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about their true mission also served them well. Verona tipped her coiffed head in acknowledgment, and her manservant smiled and nodded his head respectfully as he made his way to the front entrance.

  Verona took a deep breath and composed herself, immersing herself in her role. She was but a lady of minor importance, visiting estates in the area and taking advantage of an open invitation to attend the baron's gala. Quiet and reserved, cordial and shy, not at all out of character for a lesser widowed lady with no place in the games of scheming young lordlings and their equally conniving female c
ounterparts that plagued the capital like locusts, all hungering for position and power at Court, or within a powerful player's bedchambers.

  Yet the minute she stepped into the well-appointed foyer and locked eyes with one Agda de Calenbry, Verona instantly knew she was in far over her head. One look into her hostess's gaze and she felt herself grow pale. This woman was no fool. For all Lady Agda's country airs, wearing a simple blue dress and only a modest amount kohl and blush, she had the gaze of someone who could understand all the labyrinthine Court intrigues at a glance, finding them all amusingly petty, and utterly beneath her notice. It was not for looks alone, striking as she was, that had won Agda her husband at a very young age.

  Verona immediately felt herself freeze, suddenly at an utter loss for words as the baroness's all too knowing gaze seemed to peer into her very soul. In that instant, she knew that every rumor she had uncovered regarding Lady Agda's skills at maneuvering behind the scenes were absolutely true. Verona did not face the gentle eyes of a country baron's wife, but rather the piercing regard of a true master of the great game.

  Holding back a shudder, Verona politely curtseyed, finding her voice at last. "Greetings and salutations to you, Baroness de Calenbry. May your daughter be in good health on this day of her fete."

  Lady Agda tilted her head in acknowledgment, appearing to consider a great many things at phenomenal speed before turning to the young woman to her left, and Verona's heart skipped a beat as she locked gazes with the imposing young woman before her. The rumors were not false, then. Possessing hair a far more vibrant shade of scarlet than the reports had indicated, Verona was struck for but an instant with the sickening sense of how it shimmered in the reflected foyer light like candlelight reflecting off freshly pooled blood.