Regret's Shadow (Sins of Earth Trilogy) (18 page)

“Your turn,” she said.

He blinked, and looked at her quizzically for a moment, before she pushed him to face the other way. 

He then remembered that he was still wearing the suit of finely crafted mail that
the baron of Vizerburg had given him. The man had said it was a gift for exemplary service; Hade felt as if he’d stolen it.

Her fingers were deftly unlacing the back of the shirt, “What about you,
Orin,” she pronounced his first name slowly, trying it out.  She’d only ever called him Hade.

“Got any maidens sprinkled about the countryside, pining for the day their lover will return?”

The wine had made her bold.  His neck and face were beginning to burn again. 

“Nah,” he started, “most of the men I’ve served under ensured there was little time for such things.”

A memory stole upon him then; a vision of the sea at dusk.  Sounds of frantic splashing, cries for help, and the gratitude of a lady saved from death…

The
chain shirt came free, and she let it pool in the trunk.  He shook the memory away, and worked his greaves while she began to pull off his boots.

“So…you’re saying you never married?” She
had missed his momentary reverie, and was setting his boots next to her own near the foot of the bed.

He dropped the last of the mail in the nearly-full trunk, “Heh, no.  Although, I can’t imagine why no one wanted to marry a scruffy soldier stationed on the outskirts of nowhere.”

She was staring at him, he realized.  His grin slipped slightly, as it occurred to him that she’d taken his boots.  He glanced at the footwear and back to her as she took a step toward him.

She was limned in the glow of the lamp, her golden hair a halo.  He was painfully aware of how the soft fabric of her tunic and leggings accentuated her figure.  Even though she was a near-silhouette, her violet eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed.  Before he knew it they were toe-to-toe.

“Their loss,” it was barely above a whisper.

“Princess, I…” he stammered.

She kissed him.  It was soft and tentative at first, but soon blossomed.  Her hands reached up to either side of his neck, and he found himself circling her lithe figure with his arms before he knew what he was doing.  She broke it off, pulling away just an inch.  His whole world consisted of two purple pools.

“Hmm,” she grunted, snaking her arms to lock behind his neck, while wriggling tighter against him.

Hade’s head was swimming, but still he assumed a hurt expression, “’Hmm’?  That’s all you’ve got?”

She smirked, “At ease, soldier.” She put her fingers through his facial hair, “I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before.  Elves don’t have facial hair.”

“Really?” He wasn’t sure how to take that, “I can always shave.”

She kissed him again, opening her mouth to let him explore with his tongue.  This
one lasted longer, and Hade was beginning to give in to his yearning for her.

When they stopped
, the silence was broken only by their heavy breathing.  She began to back toward the bed, pulling him along with her.  Her eyes smiled at him.

“I don’t know…it’s different.  Makes me wonder,” she said as they started to
work at disrobing one another - in a considerably more urgent fashion than they’d removed their armor.

“How else are human men different then elves?”

They spent the night together, satisfying her curiosity.

Following a day of audiences, the king had retired to his solar, an opulently furnished sitting room which stood behind the Throne Room.  It contained plush chairs and sofas, several round polished tables, two hearths and a wide balcony. 

There were bookshelves unset in the walls, twelve feet in height, yet they didn’t reach the domed ceiling.  Lamps were fastened in regular intervals, as well as upon each of the tables.  A deep, rich carpet of golden thread covered the entire floor.

Near the outer wall, facing away from the large glass doors that lead to the balcony, sat a massive stone desk.  Its top was polished granite, the color of charcoal.  It was adorned with two lamps, a globe of Valia, and a sunken inkpot with multiple quills had a home on the right-hand side.  Sheaves of paper were scattered about the surface.

The king was on his balcony, looking over the White River as it twisted by below, and the shipping district that sprawled out beyond.  There was a slight breeze, but Remiel wanted to be alert, focused. 

He had an important meeting that might shed some much-needed light upon events transpiring in the west of the Realm, and he couldn’t afford to allow the day-to-day minutia of ruling to scatter his thoughts.  He often took to his balcony to clear his head.

There came a soft cough from the half opened door behind him.  He turned to see Calvert, his butler, stepping onto the balcony. 

The elderly man bowed deeply, showing the king the top of his bald head, before assuming an apologetic expression.  He understood Remiel all too well.

“Young Master Reynolt ha
s arrived from the keep of the lord mages, Your Grace.” Calvert had a voice smooth and rich, like aged liquor.

Remiel nodded, “Thank you, Calvert.  Show hi
m in.  Tell the queen I’ll be taking supper in my solar, and I’ll have a guest.  As always, she’s welcome to join us.”

The butler nodded curtly, “Very good, Your
Highness.”

As Calvert disappeared, the k
ing took one last look across the lower half of his city.  With a final deep breath of the spring air, he turned and entered his solar, closing the door behind him.  He moved to the western hearth and poked at the low fire there.  As he straitened, wincing at the tightness of his lower back, Calvert returned.

“Reynolt of Crys
talwater, recently-appointed Wizard of the Realm,” he announced, before stepping aside to allow Reynolt to enter. 

The wizard was clad in a deep purple tunic, breeches, and cloak.  He wore a wide black belt, and polished black boots.

“Your Majesty,” he said, before bowing deeply.  As he straightened, Remiel could see that his brown eyes were haunted.  There were bags beneath them that hadn’t been there when they’d met before his departure, and his jet hair was prematurely streaked with white.  A chill ran up the King’s spine.

“Reynolt.  Congratulations on your appointment.” He waved the you
ng man to a seat near his desk.

“I trust your mission was a success?”

They moved in concert to the other side of the room.  Reynolt chose a deeply cushioned armchair while the king took his seat behind the desk.  Calvert glided to a side table and poured two glasses of brandy.

“Tell me,” Remiel began in somber tones, “Is Leodyne Falkshire…dead,” he stammered a moment, “I mean, you were able to defeat him, yes?”

The young wizard took the offered libation before responding.  He drank deeply, and sighed.  He set the glass on the desk and leaned back, gathering his thoughts.

“The lych is gone, My K
ing,” he started, “His thralls were consumed in the energy well, so there will be no disciples of his mad teaching to spread through the Realm.”

“Ahh,” Remiel breathed, “That’s good news.”

Reynolt didn’t share his relief, “It would be, Your Highness, if there hadn’t been more to Falkshire’s descent into madness.”

The k
ing stopped in mid-sip of his brandy.  He set the glass down with a frown,

“Go on.”

Reynolt rocked forward to place his steepled fingers against his chin, lips pursed.  At length he seemed to cease an inward struggle.

“Master Falkshire was in league with
Malavarius Drejth.”

There was the hiss of a sharp intake of breath, and Calvert reddened as the two men glanced his way.  He stiffened, the tray he held with the brandy decanter shaking slightly as he regained composure.

The king stared at Reynolt for a few moments, his steely eyes unreadable.

“You are sure.” It wasn’t a question.

Reynolt nodded solemnly, “Positive, Your Majesty.  I was witness to their last communication.”

“Damn,” the k
ing spat.   He had been briefed on the nature of Leodyne’s suspected corruption, of course, but there had been other attempts to harness Drejth magic, none of which indicated a direct link to the long-dead sorcerer.

“It’s worse,” Reynolt interrupted his thoughts. 

Remiel raised an eyebrow, indicating he was dubious about how much worse it could get.

“Drejth has cast his spirit into the world, somehow.  He has something dir
e planned; something that he said will end your family’s reign. 

“
While he didn’t lay out his grand design, he did mention the Baroness…Emberlock.  He said he had to meet her in Galloway ‘before the moon turned.’ ”

He let that sink in.

“Galloway,” the king breathed.

Reynolt fr
owned, “You’ve had other news, My King?”

Remiel
stood, clasping his hands behind his back, he began to pace behind his desk.

“Two weeks ago, one of my investigators turned up som
e troubling news regarding the baroness and her cousin, Vedra Renmoth.” As the king spoke, Reynolt listened intently, keeping his eyes on Remiel.

“I thought it more maneuvering on Calistra’s part; she’s always hungered for power, and a way to break away from the Realm’s rule…MY rule. 

“Something gave me pause, however, so I sent the Darkcloak to look in on her.”

The young wizard nodded; the k
ing’s Shadow was well known, and well respected in the wizard community.  Jericho Darkcloak had been tapped by the lord mages on occasion as well.

“He found disturbing entries in her diary, talk of the ‘coming battle’ and ‘powerful friends with reason to go against the king’. 

“I sent messengers to the palace at Galloway, to inform my cousin Günter of a possible plot, but it wasn’t until the smuggler captain came with news of Lady Renmoth seeking to buy passage to the city that I felt the need to take more action.

“I dispatched the Darkcloak to travel with her, disguised as one of the crew.  They should have reached the city by now. 

“In fact, I’m expecting a communiqué from Jericho this evening.”

Reynolt thought for a moment, trying to piece a possible plot together from the disparate pieces.  He came up short.

“That’s not all,” the king continued, “I’ve had a pigeon from my nephew at Vizerburg.  He didn’t mention any details, as he said an envoy was on the way, but it seems the goblins have breached eastern border at the Holdwalls.”

Reynolt
blanched, “Goblins invading the Realm?  How long has it been, five hundred years or more?  What do you think it means?”

Before the king could answer, Queen Mirabelle entered, followed by a train of servants with food-laden trays of sliver. 

She was resplendent in a white gown, with pearls sewn into the bodice in a floral pattern.  It was cut modestly, with her shoulders and breast lined with white fur.  Her raven hair was caught up in a wide clip of mother-of-pearl, allowing full view of her ivory neck and diamond earrings. 

While just over fifty years of age, her hair showed no gray, and her porcelain features
were only enhanced by faint lines around her eyes.

She smiled warmly, “Reynolt.  A pleasure, as always.”

She glided toward him, extending a hand gloved in silk past the elbow.  The young wizard stood to meet her, smiling as he bowed to kiss her knuckles.

“Your radiance
pierces the heart, as usual, My Queen,” he straightened. 

Despite his smiling demeanor, Mirabelle immediately picked up on the changes his mission had wrought.  Her eyebrows came together in concern.

“Something has happened,” she said, caressing his face.  She looked past him to the king and caught Remiel’s grim nod.  Turning her warm brown eyes back to Reynolt, she gently patted his cheek. 

“You can tell me about it over dinner.”

Reynolt nodded, and ushered her to a plush seat near one of the tables that was being laid out for supper.  He helped her sit, and turned back to the king, who was speaking quietly to Calvert. 

He had taken only a single step when the door burst open and a flush man in the livery of the castle guard stepped in.

“Your Highness,” the man nearly shouted.  He caught sight of the queen and his flush deepened.  He seemed to regain some composure and bowed quickly, “Beggin’ your pardon, my queen.”

She waved his embarrassment away, while the king strode forward
, “What is it, Hemford,” he asked.

The guard took a breath, “There’s a…a ship, Your
Highness.  It’s ahh, a flying ship.” The man looked embarrassed all over again.

“A flying ship?  Here?” the king looked to Reynolt, who started toward them, nodding to the king.

“It would be Osric Glenshadow, out of Vizerburg, Your Highness.  He had come to the lord mages months ago with plans for a flying craft.  I didn’t think it would work, actually…”

Hemford seemed like he had walked into a dream.  He tried to hang on to reality enough to relay his message
.

“The
ship is coming over the walls, My King.  It hopes to land, but…” he seemed unsure of adding to the absurdity.

The k
ing put an arm around him, guiding him out the door, Reynolt and the queen trailing. 

“Take a breath, Hemford. 
‘But’ what?”

“There are
elves
on the ship, Your Highness,” he said.

Remiel looked back to his companions, frowning.  They strode through the Throne
Room and headed through the castle halls to the courtyard. 

They emerged on a balcony that the
king and queen often used to address crowds.  Hanging in the air not fifty feet from them, was Osric’s flying ship.

It had sprouted a few arrows from the hull, and the figures onboard had taken cover.  Below, and along the walls of the courtyard, archers and spearmen were covering the vessel. 

The king’s general and commander of the guard, Lord Tavister Kell, was standing on the cobblestones, shouting for his men to cease fire.  As he turned, he caught site of the party on the balcony.

“Your
Highness,” he shouted.  “They just approached from the east, no colors and no warning.  There appears to be no siege weaponry aboard…” he glanced again at the ship, still and silent in the air.

The
king held out his hand, “At ease, men!”

The soldiers lowered their weapons at the strong word of their liege.  A few of the figures on the deck of the craft straightened.

“Who goes there,” called Remiel, in a voice that would brook nothing but obedience.

A bearded man in silvery mail approached the
gunnels and held up his hand in salute.

“
Orin Hade, Your Highness - corporal in your army, stationed out of Kelleran’s Folly. 

“
I’ve come with dire tidings, I’m afraid.”

He turned and motioned to one of the others.  A radiant woman, dressed in alien armor and armed with eldritch weapons stepped to his side.  Hade then addressed the royals once again.

“I’ve brought the princess of the elves.”

For the first time in anyone’s recollection, the king gaped.

Twenty minutes later the solar was filled to capacity.  Introductions had been made, and the air was filled with chatter.  Finally, the king was forced to hold up his hands as he called for silence.

“Please, everyon
e, be calm.”  He looked to the queen who nodded.

“You there, Ms. Willow, isn’t it
?  Would you mind helping me?” She gestured to the apprentices and then to the food. 

Ms. Willow, ever sharp, bobbed a curtsey and grabbed her two companions by the arm.  The three of them h
elped to serve food, while the king, Tavister Kell, Hade, Ethelrynne, and Reynolt moved to the king’s desk.  The princess nodded to her rangers, and they took seats obediently.

Ethelrynne smiled at Hade as he offered her a seat.  He then stood beside her as the others took to chairs.

“Princess,” the king began, “Let me express my genuine pleasure and surprise at meeting you.  We have not had any elves in the castle for generations”