Paladin's Oath

by M. H. Johnson

  The girl's eyes flashed like rubies, such a brilliant red they were, matching perfectly her crimson dress. Her features were exquisite. Flawless skin save for an odd patch of faint, silvery scars upon her cheeks, the cheekbones themselves were elegantly curved, her lips lush and full. The girl herself seemed to be completely unaware of just how utterly beautiful she was.

  “Lady Verona, how do you fare this evening? Please, allow me to introduce you to my daughter Jessica. It is in her honor that we celebrate this special occasion, the return of our child from the land of darkest dream, safe and sound beside us once more.” Lady Agda's words washed over Verona as she found herself captivated by the girl before her, doing all she could to collect her thoughts, her face carefully expressionless as a whirlwind of emotions roared through her in that brief moment that seemed to stretch for an eternity.

  Verona took a deep, shuddering breath, unable to deny that the child before her had a presence. Her dress had been exquisitely crafted to emphasize her curves as best it could, but no dress could completely hide the broad, powerful shoulders contained within, nor the predatory grace with which her whole body moved when young Jessica de Calenbry locked her gaze upon that which caught her interest, her exotic eyes peering at Verona as intently as her mother's had.

  Yet where her mother's eyes hinted at jaded mastery of labyrinthine intrigues the complexity of which even Verona couldn't hope to fathom, Jessica's gaze was that of a fierce mountain cat, Court intrigues utterly alien to her notice or concern, only judging best how to eviscerate her prey.

  Her hand held gently in a grip that Verona was dreadfully certain could shatter her own with a single careless squeeze, she forced herself to curtsy and speak. “Congratulations on your fete, Lady Jessica de Calenbry. I do hope you are enjoying your special day.”

  The girl then smiled, and she was transformed instantly. Gone was the fierce gaze of a hunting cat locked upon her prey. Before her now was the winsome smile of a girl far too strong and powerfully built to ever fit the standard definition of courtly ideals in a woman, but possessing such exquisitely striking features and such a fierce, charismatic vitality that it would either cause men to look askance for gentler, safer fruit, or ache with raging passion to possess and claim her for themselves.

  The very thought of the storm of intrigue that would follow this child, should she actually be claimed by the Royal Family for their own, made Verona suppress a shudder. Certainly the status quo would be shattered, and she could only imagine how the chips would fall.

  “Thank you, Lady Verona.” The girl spoke in a voice that was low and throaty. Perfect for seducing a wayward soul, or roaring out orders on the battlefield, Verona had no doubt. “We are glad to have you. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Food and refreshments await within.”

  Verona nodded solemnly, rendered speechless. Gone were her carefully constructed plans to burrow her way into their confidences, to secure a place within their country court. She felt like she had been training for a fierce duel only to understand with but a single glance that her opponent was a master, and her chosen weapon was one Verona had never had to fence with before. This would be nothing like playing the role of a submissive mouse, easily gaining the jaded confidence of arrogant courtiers who thought themselves masters of seduction and intrigue, or awing a corrupt group of merchants, eager to impress a seemingly corrupt noble looking for an unorthodox opportunity to get ahead. No. The almost bonhomie familiarity of the greeting lords and ladies was utterly alien to life at Court, so at ease they were with each other and themselves, so lacking in undue pretensions, save for the young men, half of whom avoided the honored girl's very gaze, the other half vying for her attention like young bucks in heat, the object of their affections seeming hardly to notice them at all.

  In truth, Verona was at a complete loss as to how she could win over any of the guests enjoying the festivities. And presiding over the entire group, utterly comfortable in their familiar circle, was a lady who had apparently so mastered the intrigues of Court that her own grand manor was left clean and free of those admittedly petty games.

  Verona did what she always did in an unfamiliar environment. She grabbed some food and drink to give herself an excuse not to be drawn into conversation before she was ready, watching all that went on around her, striving at that moment only to learn and observe.

  Nothing. There were no games. No lords were speaking of trade alliances or arrangements of convenience, no one was catching Lady Agda or her daughter’s attention to speak quietly of matters to their exclusive benefit. It truly seemed to be an almost informal gathering between the many vassals of the kingdom's largest and most powerful barony and their liege lord. As informal and friendly as a gentle master hosting a year-end feast for his hard working laborers.

  Verona had no doubt that the Lady of the House was behind it, having sculpted her impromptu court over the years to her liking so subtly and masterfully that her husband, brilliant martial tactician that he no doubt was, probably had no idea why or how his own miniature court of lesser lords was so much more peaceful and civilized than the royal one.

  It was then Verona caught a knowing look exchanged between mother and daughter, Jessica's fierce predatory gaze locking once more upon Verona's own, and in that split second Verona felt her heart race in sudden panic before, almost casually, Jessica let her go, eyes wandering about the gathering with an almost bored indifference.

  Verona forced herself to take a deep, shuddering breath. Direct the child might be, but she was perhaps no less perceptive than her mother.

  She knew. Somehow, they both knew. Verona felt herself flush, humbled and humiliated. All Sir Gray's useless flattery aside, she was but an amateur who had noble connections and a talent for odd bits of magic, some seductive, some deadly. And in but seconds, she had been discovered.

  Verona closed her eyes for but a moment, forcing herself to take a deep calming breath. She had her suspicions that they had made her, but she could not be certain she had been found out. And even if she had, what of it? Instead of subterfuge, she would then act with the cool authority of a Crown Agent. She was there to investigate claims of Primacy. There to see if the ancient Rites of Claimance had once more manifested upon the face of Dawn. It was only fitting that the Court be seen taking such rumors seriously. And Verona’s role was to discover what truth lay beneath the tales.

  Perhaps, she thought, it was time to speak to Jessica directly. No longer fearing discovery, nor overly stressing pretext, aiming now only for a modicum of subtlety. She would confess herself a fan of the grand stories she had read with such fascination, and would love to hear about Jess’s adventures from the source, so to speak. Steeling herself, Verona made her way to where she had last seen Jessica standing, her crimson hair, much like her sister's darker auburn, was unmistakable in the crowd of browns and blonds, only to realize that Jessica was nowhere to be found.

  40

  It was then that Verona felt a gentle touch on the shoulder, instinctively turning around to be held captive by the most hypnotic pair of eyes she ever did see, shimmering like brilliant gold lost in a sea of green. She managed to blink at last, and take in the entirety of the powerfully built man before her. His silken jacket of deepest blue did little to conceal the massive power of his muscular frame, his tight leggings outright advertising his sculpted legs. He was like an exquisite work of art, Verona dreamily mused, every gesture and movement conveying power and mastery. Hair a shocking shade of brilliant white, his face held an ageless strength, however, and his smile was utterly hypnotic.

  If Jess was a fierce hunting cat, the man before her was a lion in his prime, radiating utter dominance and mastery over everything before him.

  Verona had to suppress a shudder as a sudden fantasy came, unbidden, of him utterly mastering her, forcing her to submit, deliciously, to his every touch and command. Images of her kneeling before him in submission as he degraded her with ruthless abandon over and over again l
eft her knees weak and her cheeks flushing in sudden shame. She ached for him. More specifically for his ruthless domination of her, and she loathed that side of herself fiercely, and Sir Gray for bringing those humiliating urges to the fore with such deliberate skill to their mutual shuddering satisfaction, for all that her cheeks still flushed with embarrassed heat when she gazed at Gray's knowing smile afterwards.

  The man before her tilted his head, gazing at her with his amused, wild eyes. “What are you thinking about, I wonder? Something deliciously decadent, I do hope.” He laughed then, low and throaty. “But come. Other games await our pleasure, I suspect.” With that, without even a proper introduction, he gently took her hand in his own powerful grip and led her through the crowd. She suppressed the sudden furious urge to pull away.

  Despite herself, she wanted him to lead her someplace far from the alien crowd and her difficult assignment. She didn’t even want to think about the things he could do to her, tucked alone in some corner, some man she hadn't even been properly introduced to, and how she would let him. How fiercely she hungered for just that. But some pretense of modesty must interpose, she realized, or she just couldn’t live with herself.

  “Where are we going?” she asked at last, showing some measure of reserve, she hoped.

  He flashed her a quick grin. “To where you most want to be.”

  Lady Verona began to flush, causing her captor? Conspirator? Paramour? To chuckle gently. “No time for that, I’m afraid. Come now. You seem to me like a woman who enjoys uncovering mysteries, and I, for one, think you will be excellent company.” With that he led her clear out of the grand residence, and at a gentle loping run that quickly had her panting to keep up, he led her to a grove of apple trees captured in silhouette by the final rays of the setting sun.

  Her heart raced. She could imagine him doing such things to her, deep among the foliage. Exquisitely delicious things. And she hardly cared about the dress in any case.

  “My name is Verona. Lady Verona. May I have yours?” Was all she said, her breath near hitched with suppressed excitement.

  He nodded. “You may call me Morlekai. Del Morlekai, if you need a title.”

  Verona shivered in sudden apprehension. This man who had so boldly ensconced with her… not a noble lord, but a Delver. Aligned with the Guild? A most unexpected, even chilling, development. But his fierce brooding presence was undeniable, reminding her so very much of young Jessica. Both had the aura of wild predators looking for their next kill. Both moved with a fierce, primordial grace, and Verona somehow sensed that she would be helpless to budge even one of Morlekai's casually clasping fingers, did he not wish it. Certainly it made sense. The Guild, even if it was built upon a façade, at least had the sense to employ the most physically adept warriors to lend credence to the tales that almost all Delvers developed near inhuman strength and martial prowess.

  It was then that her attention was pulled to the low melodic words coming from deeper within the apple grove they approached the very outskirts of. With a firm hand gently squeezing her to a stop, Morlekai halted. “This is close enough.”

  And a sudden shiver of apprehension flooded through Verona. That was Jessica de Calenbry she saw up ahead. And Morlekai was following her, and for whatever reason, had sought Verona out to bring her along.

  He knew. Somehow this Morlekai, a man she had never met before this night, had known of her interest in the girl they discretely gazed upon even now.

  “But how?” And she silenced herself, heart racing, fearing that a far deeper game was being played than she realized.

  She would have to be cautious. Terribly cautious. For one wrong move could cost her everything, and she might find her piece swept off the board by players far more adept than herself.

  First thing was to watch. To listen. To declare nothing. To try to understand the true underpinnings of what was afoot before committing herself to any declaration or stratagem. Did the Guild suspect? Of course. How could they, of all people, not know the old tales, not know what the stories truly meant? And would they not suspect that a Crown Agent such as herself might appear before very long to substantiate or disprove the story? It chilled her to follow the realization through, yet she realized that the Guild must know that ultimately the Royal House would deign to neutralize the source of the rumors, or claim it as their own.

  What if the Guild had other plans? Perhaps seeking to use the child's own claims of mastering sacred rites as a pawn for the legitimacy of their own future bid for noble, even royal power? Long had the Guild and Nobles agreed to a very old accord; the Guild being granted certain rights and privileges placing their members far beyond the strictures of freemen and peasants, yet they were barred from formal declarations of noble stature, unless a Delver was already of noble blood. Yet despite this stricture, the Guild had been allowed to accrue considerable economic influence, their assets including many business interests and properties, in addition to their highly profitable Guildhalls that doubled as inns and eateries catering to the most decadent and wealthy clientele, including the richest of merchants and traveling nobles who appreciated halls that no foe would dare to breach.

  Guild members were viewed by most nobles as part of a very powerful merchant consortium as much as anything else, albeit one with access to highly talented professional killers, and so were given degrees of freedom permitted to few others, so long as the Guild was careful never to tread upon or formally declare Noble Privilege.

  Perhaps it was as Lord Gray feared, and these were the opening moves to what would be a realm-shaking power play? Her own self-destructive passions aside, Verona realized then that she must send a report to her master at once. But the deliciously dangerous Morlekai's eyes were fastened to her with such intensity that she felt paralyzed, unable to move or do anything but gaze helplessly back, like a mouse caught in the hypnotic trance of the serpent even as, with a bemused smile, his fingers gently tilted her eyes to focus upon Jessica.

  The girl was at that very second pulling out her belt knife, a weapon that Verona instantly understood to be a blade meant for killing, not eating, even at this distance. In slow, practiced movements the crimson haired girl brought the weapon to her cheek and cut herself.

  Verona suppressed a gasp as she overheard the girl speak. “By my blood I claim myself. Fruit of Agda de Calenbry, child of her blossoms. By my blood I recognize Appolonia. Fruit of Agda de Calenbry, child of her blossoms. Both of us, fruit of the same sacred tree. Both of us, blossoms of our ancestors' love. Together, we are are them. Together, we are one.”

  Verona's heart began to race. She understood. Understood that which most mages of Highrock would be completely blind to. For it tingled against the bare edges of her own warped talents, tainted as they were by the ancient gift of bloodmagic. Barely understood, she had but the smallest remnant of the power accredited to old warlocks, before the modern rise of well disciplined and defined elemental magics. It prevented her from casting any truly mighty webs of power, warped as hers were by a crimson taint she had long sought to understand and master, since she found it futile to suppress, and impossible to wish away.

  Thanks to her desperate diligence, and by dint of Lord Rens unearthing for her tomes long forgotten and found irrelevant by most of the arcane scholars at the college. With much time and exhaustive practice, she had finally found the knack of channeling her odd gifts, twisted as her magic webs had become, forging spells unique to her alone.

  Mighty talents for controlling nature's fury, or shooting balls of fire, or mastering words that could shatter stone she lacked, but her crimson tinged spells, limited as they were, had proven exquisitely useful in her chosen profession. Thus, unlike most college-trained mages, she could taste power that resonated with her own.

  But there were no spell webs here in the apple grove. There was no gathering of filaments wound together in a terribly fierce or subtle and deadly web of power. It was raw bloodmagic Jessica de Calenbry summoned with her whispers of Ritu
al. Many times more potent than anything Verona herself had ever striven to master. The stuff of life and death itself. Fierce and terrible, wild and unchained. And channeled, it felt like, by will alone.

  Verona felt her stomach roil with the wave of crimson power young Jessica coaxed into being. Felt it wash and course through her, leaving her stumbling and shaking, even as she saw the young woman ahead crash to her knees and moan. Verona gasped, hearing the trees themselves rustling madly as if storm winds roared through the grove, though the air was silent and utterly still.

  And in that breathless moment, Verona remembered odd lessons Rens had taught Highrock's aspiring battlemages, lessons no other elementalist, filled with pride for their honored tradition, wanted to teach. For all that the organized magics of the elementalist tradition had eventually supplanted the arcane understandings that had proceeded their own, ancient traditions there had indeed been, and it had not always been a peaceful transition. When masters of those dark orders had been crossed by covens of arrogant elementalists who refused to pay sufficient respect to the old ways even as they were supplanted by the new, there had been a most terrible price to pay. A cost in blood and suffering the likes of which modern wizards, accustomed as they were to their luxuries and prestige, would be loathe to pay.

  It was argued, in fact, that the primary reason why the elementalist order went so out of its way to find and foster new talent, establishing a long, honored tradition sponsoring free of charge those found to have even a modicum of talent, such as Verona herself, was originally introduced as a means of gathering as many potential wizards to the elementalist cause as possible, to keep their craft alive and vibrant, even as more ancient arts died out.