Highmage's Plight (Highmage’s Plight Series Book 1) (16 page)

Ruefully, he replied, “Somehow, I doubt that’s what your father had in mind when he gifted you to us.”

To that she could make no reply, privately admitting feeling that there had to be more to it too. The bonding was too rare to be granted as easily as her father had willed it. She sighed, suddenly amused, “You must at least accede to our prowess as fighters.”

“Bodyguards for life is not a concept I relish, even when it seems more often than not that I am running for my life. Still my only hope lies in finding my answer in the Empire.”

Nodding, she said, “You mean Demonlords have not always sought your life, oh mage of human lore?”

“Hardly,” he scoffed, “archaeology used to be such a quiet profession.”

“Thus, it is bodyguards you most need, even if wives are not what you bargained for. Yet it is more we offer, and now I realize that you really do not understand what we are, or you would resent us less. Yes, perhaps, that is the problem.”

“Wherever did you learn to do this?” Balfour sighed as Me’oh expertly massaged his back.

“I admit I have nowhere near the level of healing skills that you have, but I have been well-trained. I had to be to survive as I have.”

“I don’t understand,” he said in puzzlement.

Me’oh smiled wanly. “I was not always of Sire Ryff’s house. I was boundless for years, bore my daughters near the docks where the poorest women in Cathart live.”

Craning his neck he looked up at her. “I thought all Cathartans lived bound to one of the great houses.”

“No. The houses are too few these days. Our men are dying out. Perhaps all the houses will vanish in two or three more generations. That is why Se’and’s brother Vyss was so precious to us. He was the first secondson born in ten generations. We Cathartans are a stubborn people, you see. We will keep humanity alive. Yet our lords can often be foolish, which is why Cathartan women often get our way.”

Cle’or had returned to her exercises and quitetly listened as Me’oh hesitated in her story.

“My sire gave me in bond to one he wished to ally himself. The lord was old and had seen me and desired me. I knew nothing of the politics when I entered that nameless house. Let me just say of that time that I was betrayed and the lord cast me out.” She chuckled, “I was pregnant with his child, yet it did not matter.”

Balfour felt her fingertips grow chill to think back to it. Me’oh shook herself then continued, “So I found myself living alone in the streets. Yet, I had been trained in my sire’s house to understand the value of certain herbs for medicinal purposes. What many saw as worthless seaweed or woven exotic grasses commonly used to pack a crate, I scavenged and later sold.

“For those who lived on the docks, I became the closest thing to a healer they had. I learned to mid-wife and, as the years passed, I looked to the sailors for solace. I never played the harlot like many of the boundless chose. Only one became dear to me. He brought me books on mundane healing techniques. From them, I learned my craft as well as bore my other daughter. How I miss them both,” she reflected.

“It was my growing skill that drew Sire Ryff’s attention. He needed all the skilled aid for his sick son that he could get. He knew of my past and offered to take us into his House. It was an unprecedented offer that I could not decline, even had I thought him an unkind man, which he assuredly is not. And so it is, he bonded me to you and promised to always keep my daughters safe.”

Balfour had listened thoughtfully, realizing there was so much more to her lands than he had ever given thought to before. Cle’or frowned as she brought her sword to guard once more. She knew Me’oh’s story only through rumor. To have been boundless, without honor and duty, that was Cle’or’s deepest fear. That Me’oh had survived it and been taken in by Sire Ryff was a matter that deserved respect.

Me’oh turned away as Balfour saw the tears in her eyes. He stood, reached out, and hugged her.

In the brush a voyeur watched mischievously, toying with the jewelled dagger in his hands. “Take what pleasure you may elfblood, for soon you are mine.”

Here was his prey. He only hoped his men continued to be patient. There was enough gold in this for all of them.

“M’lord, I would have you understand the Cathartan Way,” Se’and said.

Her expression gave George pause, “I guess I at the very least owe you the opportunity.”

With a sigh, she reached for his hand. “I had thought hard about how to explain. I feel telling you a story of my people is best.”

She led him to sit upon a fallen tree and smiled, “It is the legend of the Shattered House.” The breeze ruffled the edge of her black livery as she ran her fingertips across the intricately styled hilt of her short sword in an unconscious gesture.

“The house was famed in Cathart for its metal work. Their swords and knives were known as much for their beauty as their perfect balance. No other house could rival the techniques they had mastered.

“Virgin sisters, masters of the craft, were forbidden to marry to best horde the house’s skills. That only aggravated the tragedy. You see, their aging lord was without heir. His many wives bore him many strong daughters yet none bore him a son. The heir needed to continue the house. The other lords felt triumph as the old lord became senile, however it was long years before the old lord finally died and any of their schemes to acquire their skills and resources could commence.

“Yet the day of their lord’s death had not gone unplanned for by the house. They would not allow themselves to be so easily manipulated by their long rivals falling to the highest bidder as it were. Len’ohr, the old lord’s twin sister and warder of the house, had quietly ruled for decades. On that fateful day she announced the greedy lords who had gathered at the Gates that a period of mourning was beginning. That in itself was not unexpected, yet her prompt declaration of ten years of mourning was. The lords were enraged. They demanded that the house be razed for its insolence!

“Then the Mother Shaman of all the houses intervened and each whispered to their lord: ‘Every house has the right to mourn. If the house chooses it to be for ten years, then that is their right. But remember, at the end of that time they must surely disband or choose a lord from among you. Would it not be best to show the bereaved house how it is that you respect them and thus should ultimately be chosen their lord? Then their talents and wealth would be yours alone.’

“Each lord hastily agreed and called back their guards, honoring the wit of their Mother Shaman. As so it was that for ten years the house was left to mourn. All the Lords of Cathart, young and old, even child sons were brought before Len’ohr and the crafts masters of the house. Yet none were found acceptable and Shattered House, as it became known, realized that more desperate means at finding an heir must be taken.

“So it was that to the disgust of all the other houses, the sisters of the Shattered House could be seen on Cathart’s docks meeting foreign sailors from every ship that came to Cathart Bay. The lords cursed the women who played harlot like one of the boundless. The boundless were those cast from their houses. They had no honor and would lie with the foreigners in the hope that they might bear a son and found their own house.

“So it was that the loveliest daughters of the Shattered House sought among the flotsam of sailors hoping to bear a son. Angrily, the lords awaited the end of mourning, knowing that they would make the foolish women regret the humiliation they had caused.

“It was in the ninth year that the lords’ bitter plotting reached new heights. The last merchant ship arrived before the storm season. Their last chance was upon them if the heir were to be born before mourning ended. Every sailor on that ship found more willing women in Cathart than ever a sailor had ever envisioned. The Shattered House grew desperate as the lords arranged great parties for the sailors, while the women of the Shattered House did their best to meet with the men at Len’ohr’s urging.

“Fighting broke out, yet the sailors were unaffected, joyously going with their willing hosts. Yet amidst it all, there was Ter’sa. She was very young woman, little more than a girl of the Shattered House, and had held herself apart. Len’ohr had chided her for not committing herself. Yet it was not because she did not agree with her sisters’ desperate gambit. She felt it might truly be their only hope. So she chose to disguise herself and went down to the wharf, telling herself that she must find just the right man, one only her true heart might recognize as the heir’s sire.

“She gazed up at the now abandoned ship as the sun began to set, knowing in a few days it must leave to make its way safely back to its home port. Forlornly, she realized that all the sailors were long gone. Then she saw a light was lit upon the ship as the night stars began to appear. With a look of hope, she rushed up the gangplank onto the ship and saw someone lighting yet another lamp.

“He was startled and exclaimed, ‘Off with you! If the captain finds you, you’ll feel his lash!’

“She sighed, seeing him silhouetted against the faint light. He was only a lad.
“‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you.’ He said. He stepped back and told her, ‘Best you be off the ship right quick, miss,’ then he turned and ran away from her and ducked down a doorway.

“She grabbed up the lamp he had just lit and chased after him shouting for him to wait. She held the lantern high and finally found him huddled in a cramped room, then saw his face as he cringed back from the light. He was scarred; half his face had been terribly burned. He knew he was ugly. The crew never ceased to remind him of it as he slaved, obeying their every whim. ‘Leave me!’ he cried.

“Instead she put the lantern down and sat beside him. ‘Do not be afraid,’ she whispered, realizing that this space must be his room. “He stared at her dumbfounded and softly cried in anguish as the beautiful girl put her arm around him and held him. When he hesitantly joined her they began to talk about life at sea and the fire that had marred him. Finally he looked up and realized that she wore but the sheerest of clothing. He saw her smile at him without pity and say, ‘My heart tells me you are the one, but so young.”

“’The one?’ he whispered. She nodded and looked about her, then took his hand and rose. She took the lantern and peered into several rooms until she found one she felt suitable.

“‘We can’t go in there. It’s the captain’s cabin.’

“She smiled and brought him to the bed, where she allowed her clothing to fall. He stared at her as she waited patiently. She kissed him and helped him to remove his clothes and saw the terrible welts on his back. She held him tenderly and kissed him once more. In many ways, Kyrr was a boy, yet not in the ways that most counted to her. Before the sun rose she knew he had indeed been the one.

“Kyrr woke to find her caressing her belly, her eyes closed. She smiled at him, ‘I shall bear you a fine son, my lord.’ He did not understand as she gingerly kissed his misshapen cheek then rose, ‘You are leaving this ship and coming with me. I will not leave you here.’

“’But where will I go?’ he asked as she dressed.

“‘Well, are you coming with me or not?’ she asked with a tender smile. He followed her. And so it was that Ter’sa brought Kyrr secretly back to the Shattered House. Len’ohr, to say the least, was not amused by Ter’sa’s sudden declaration that she would bear the heir, her scarred boy lover beside her.

“‘Are you daft, girl?’ Yet Ter’sa bowed to the boy.

“‘Forgive her, my lord, the strain of ruling this House in such times has affected her.’

“Len’ohr's shrilling sent for the Mother Shaman to disprove the youngster’s story once and for all. Yet upon entering the Mother Shaman stared at the boy and Ter’sa then bowed, her mind dancing with vision. ‘The heir has been conceived. His lord sire stands at her side.’

“Gasping Len’ohr stared, then hurriedly ordered, ‘Ter’sa, see to his every need but keep him hidden. This must be kept secret if we are to truly proclaim success by the last day of mourning.’ Ter’sa hugged Kyrr tightly and shouted, ‘Thank you!’

“And so it was on the last day of mourning that the city lords came expecting an end to the folly of the Shattered House and instead they were introduced to Lord Kyrr and the babe heir of the House, born by the Lady Ter’sa. The Mother Shaman bowed low to their lords’ horror, knowing the House was indeed shattered no more. The House of Kyrr was thus born.”

Se’and looked at George. “The Shattered House is the house of my ancestors, my lord.”

He sat quietly contemplative and nodded. She was not certain if he understood the full import of the tale. Yet there was a furtive quality to his silence that she only then began to notice.

“Se’and, please do try to understand.”

She frowned, suddenly understanding all too well and casually reached for one of her knives. She drew it and used it expertly.

He watched the second woman complete her exercise session. He liked her demonstration of skill not in the least, yet was unworried. An arrow in the back was an effective defence against even the most competent swordsman. As the elfblood held the woman beside him, he watched her march off toward the stream.

The bowman nodded in the distance and quietly pursued her. Soon the game would be afoot. He need only patiently await knowledge of their other companions.

Fri’il waded out of the water and only then noticed her weapons were missing. She hesitated, certain that this was the place that she had left them. Worried, she turned to call out, “Raven—,” when an arm descended from the branches above her and grabbed her by the scruff of the neck.

“No reason to fret now,” said the man, laughing harshly, pressing his ill shaved face pressed up to her cheek.

Raven moved to rush to her defense when a voice called out, “Do nothing foolish, girl! Your friend’s death would be meaningless, and my arrow will take you in the next step!”

In human form, Raven was mortally vulnerability. The man who had been holding Fri’il dropped from his perch and placed a menacing dagger near her left eye. Raven saw the look in Fri’il’s eyes. It was not quite fear. They would play for time; she would deal with the pair soon enough.

The one in the brush came out into the open, bow in hand, arrow notched. His partner stood behind Fri’il and pulled back her long blonde hair. He breathed the scent of her and gave her neck a slobbering kiss. “Have I got plans for you, lovey,” he muttered.

“Not now you fool!” his companion shouted as he approached Raven, lowering the bow and grabbing her arm. He hauled her clear of the stream. “We’ve other work to do before we can take our pleasures with lot of them!”