Not Magic Enough (9 page)

Travelling that distance would grow easier with time and he would have to take care not to raise questions with his absences. In truth it was likely none would notice or question. It wasn’t their way.

Still, it wouldn’t do for anyone to find out who he went to see, more so if anyone found out he made love to her, however much they were friends-of-the-heart. It was forbidden with one of the race of men; however less fertile Elves were as a race.

It would take only care but he needed her and it was clear she needed him. Badly at the moment.

Charis awaited him at the stables. They had to take the short cut across the Gorge but it would still be a day or two before they reached Delae’s isolated homestead.

It took a long hot bath and a lot of scrubbing before Delae felt clean again. She only dared bathe while Kort was occupied with his parents.

She didn’t even attempt to hide the bruise on her face although his parents pretended it wasn’t there. No one else dared speak of it. Kort scowled at the sight. She simply went about her business, although it pained her deep in her belly to walk after his attentions the night before. It was as if she were bruised inside.

Knowing Kort, she ordered Morlis to take all of the best animals over to the lands of one of the smallholders. The last time Kort appeared he’d ridden off with her prize stallion to sell as riding stock. It had taken two weeks to get it back and she’d been lucky to get the animal before he’d been gelded.

Kort had sold him for a fraction of what he’d had been worth.

Petra held a cold piece of meat to the Delae’s bruise to ease the pain.

“Why is he here?” she whispered.

“Either I’m not sending him enough coin,” Delae said with a sigh, “or he’s spending it too quickly. Otherwise, I don’t know.”

She didn’t dare offer him more money to leave either or he’d be convinced there was more she wasn’t giving him, that she’d been holding back from him.

Which of course she was. 

Over the course of the day many of the folk of the homestead reported Kort skulking and poking about as if he looked for something. He was short-tempered and angry - so much so that most of their people actively avoided him.

There was an air about him even Delae found disturbing, as if he were on edge for some reason.

If she didn’t know better, she’d have said he was frightened. But what could he be frightened of here? There was no one to challenge him except her. Yet he was clearly nervous and irritable, even more so than usual. It was disturbing and unsettling.

She knew better than to ask, it was unlikely he would tell her.

In disgust, Kort slammed his knife down at the food offered to him for dinner.

“Tasteless slop,” he snarled. “I get better in the slums of Doncerric.”

Most days Delae ate alone, save when Dorovan had been here. It was only on the rare occasions when Kort was here that they ate together as a family. It was a sham, a sop to convention, but it kept the peace and Delae couldn’t deny the benefits of it.

Not this time, though.

Lifting her eyes to him, without a glance at his mother and father who well knew this was the best the homestead had to offer, Delae said, “Then why don’t you go back?”

“I should,” he shouted and threw the bowl at her as he stormed away from the table, taking the jug of wine with him.

The bowl glanced off the arm she threw up to protect her face.

As angry as he was, she took care not to sleep in her own bed that night.

Still, she didn’t get a peaceful night’s sleep either.

“Lady,” Hallis whispered, “milady, wake up, I been keeping guard, keeping watch, he’s gone and found it…”

Stunned, furious, she shot to her feet, terrified and nearly in tears.

If he had, she’d kill him.

“Go to bed, Hallis,” she said, quietly and, snatching up the sword, ran down the hall.

“Might have known this was where the bitch hid her money,” Kort muttered, holding a single candle, pulling the bag from the hidden niche in the wall.

Quietly, from the doorway Delae said, “And if you take it, we’ll starve.”

He spun, furiously, reminding her suddenly and startlingly of a maddened boar with his bloated face.

She fought the urge to weep, to beg.

“Where is it? There should be more!” he demanded.

“Supplies were needed,” she said, begged. Pleaded. Fighting sobs. “We bought them. Half, Kort. Take half and go. I’ll send you more as soon as we have it. Half, no more.”

“Or what?” he snarled.

She looked at him. “Or you try to get past me and one of us dies. I’ll take my chances with King Hastan, thank you very much”

“Hastan and his Dwarven bride with their half-breed son,” Kort said. “At least he’s prettier than you. Think you can best me?”

There were tales of Dwarven women who were as big and bulky as their men but Delae knew better. In truth they were small, warm and lovely. Delae had been lucky enough to meet the Queen of Riverford two summers past when she’d bought one of Delae’s tapestries.

She only answered his last question.

“A sword in the gut?” she said with a careless shrug, “you’ll be just as dead, it will just take longer. Or, I might slip…”

The sword tip dropped a little, toward his second most-prized possession.

His jaw tightened in fury but her eyes stayed level with his.

Dumping the coins on the bed, he swept up half, his expression bitter and angry.

She made certain to stay out of his way, her sword up and on guard as he left but she followed him warily to be certain he was, indeed, going.

There was an air of desperation and fear about him.

Watching, she saw him go into the stables and ride out on the horse he’d ridden in on. Frowning at his haste but in some relief she watched him ride out through the gates as if hellhounds were after him.

As a precaution, though, she set guards to watch in case he came back for more.

She didn’t tell anyone he hadn’t gotten even half of her stash of coins, knowing better than to put all her eggs in one basket. Especially where Kort was concerned.

Delae fell to her knees, the precious coins in her lap and wept with relief.

This much at least, was safe.

It was a blow all the same, as it made a significant dent in their funds. Things would be tight, very tight, if the winter was too harsh. As it looked to be. She would have to ration food far earlier than she’d hoped and their solstice celebration would be chary, too.

Nor did she sleep in her own bed that night either, as a precaution. She wouldn’t have her sleep interrupted so again anytime soon.

Daylight couldn’t come soon enough for Delae. With no sign of Kort she had the animals brought back to the stables and sheds.

“It’s your fault,” Cana shouted, charging down the quadrangle. “It’s your fault Kort left so quickly.”

“And his fault if we starve through the winter, Cana,” Delae said back, just as sharply, “for lack of the grain to feed us. There will be little meat this winter as we may have to sell one of the cows. No milk, no cream, no cheese, either, if we do.”

The furious woman came up short at the threat. No milk for her bread and honey each night? She turned and stomped away in a huff.

Delae closed her eyes, pressed her fingers to her eyelids as she took a deep breath. With a shake of her head, she turned back toward the great room.

“Pay no attention to her, Delae,” Petra said, stoutly. “And we can do on half rations.”

With a smile, Delae patted Petra’s comforting hand on her arm. “For all my words to Cana, it’s not so bad as that yet, Petra, we might simply have to butter the bread a little more thinly for a time until I’m sure.”

A breath of a relief burst out of the aged little woman. She loved her bread soaked in cream and honey as much as the old bitch did.

With a small chuckle, Delae went on her way.

Her fingers drifted over the tapestry on the loom, remembering… Her throat tightened as she sat before it and chose her threads. In her thoughts was Dorovan’s lovely deep voice, telling her about life in Talaena, of how beautiful it was. She could only imagine it but some of it she set into the threads of the tapestry she wove, smiling as afternoon light slowly gilded the room in light.

That smile didn’t last long when she heard the first cry of alarm from the yard.

The first shout had Delae racing for the doorway, some instinct telling her that this, this, was what Kort had truly feared.

Morlis had spotted the black-clad riders coming and now ran to try to shut the gates, calling for help.

Damn you, Kort, what have you done?
she wondered as she spun and ran for her sword.

Petra and Hallis rushed down the hall toward her at the shouts from the yard.

“Bar all the entrances, Hallis, Petra,” Delae said, snatching up her sword, fighting back her fear. “Go as quickly as you can. Get water heated and bandages ready. Go.”

Frightened, Petra said, “What is it, Delae?”

“I don’t know,” Delae said, as they heard another shout of alarm from outside. “But it’s bad. Bar the doors behind me. Your lives on it if you don’t.”

She ran, her skirts flying.

It was too late.

The riders hit the rapidly closing gates hard with the speed of their arrival, sending Morlis flying as the wooden gates slammed against his body, flinging him backwards.

Dan came running from the forge, a hammer and a piece of heated iron in his hands to face a dozen men on horseback, all armed with swords, some in leather armor.

The horses and riders milled around in the courtyard, disturbed by the smell of the hot iron, turning for the oak and iron-clad doors to the great room.

Where Delae stepped out with sword in hand to face them.

Behind her, she heard the bar on the door fall into place with a solid chunk.

There was no retreat, but if she didn’t win here retreat was not an option. A part of her wanted to weep, but she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

“Dan - get Morlis,” she said calmly, seeing her hostler sprawled by the gates, shaking his head to clear it. She turned to the men before her. “The gates to the homestead itself are barred. Name your business here.”

She gave a significant glance to Dan, whose eyes widened at her words, knowing the doors would have to be battered open. He nodded, keeping his eyes warily on the intruders as he went to Morlis.

The leader of the invaders looked at her.

“You won’t gain entrance,” she said. “What is your business here?”

“Do you even know how to use that?” he asked, glancing at the sword.

A week’s lessons from an Elven Swordmaster…better than nothing by far, and certainly better than many of these who would know only how to hack and slash.

“Well enough to cut the first one or two who try me,” she said evenly. “Who wants to go first?”

The leader burst out in laughter as he eyed her.

Beyond him, Delae could see Dan help Morlis back to the barn before releasing him so he could close the stable doors as well. Dan gestured to the women and children, including his own Lucie, sending them into the miniature fortress that was the forge. Morlis quietly drew the doors shut behind him. All the smallfolk were safe and secure.

Now she was truly alone.

Dan shut the outer doors behind him, mallet and steel in hand, to guard the entrance and to aid Delae if he could.

His loyalty and courage touched her.

“Again,” she said, as much to keep their attention on her. “What is your business here?”

“Is this the homestead of landowner Kort?”

Kort.

She closed her eyes. She might have known. Now she understood his fear, his anxiety. He must owe a great deal to engender this result.