The Malmillard Codex (15 page)

***

Commander Madryn, newly appointed captain of
Queen Ffania's personal guard—a position given her, she'd been
told, as a reward for her impressive courage—strode on her long
booted legs down the corridor toward Lord Valaren Starseeker's
apartments.

The commander was dressed in the height of
fashion, and in the colors of the Queen's Guard. Darkest blue
jacket, the collar embroidered with gold wire, was tucked into the
sleek leather breeches of the same hue, which in turn disappeared
into the tops of short polished boots with gold-colored heels. Her
tawny hair was cut short and curled around her narrow face; the
sword that clanked at her waist had a hilt thick with gold
inlay.

It was late, and the hallways were emptier
than usual, here in the most impressive and desirable section of
the queen's palace. Doubtless, most of the inhabitants of these
elegant apartments were busy behind their carved doors, relieving
the tensions of the day in their own particular fashions.

Commander Madryn's thoughts kept time to her
footsteps, racing around inside her head. She nodded at the
occasional guard who she herself, at the queen's command, had
stationed outside certain doors. Some of the guards were for the
protection of the inhabitants, in this court full of deceit and
fear. Some were there to prevent escape.

And some were there for other reasons, as
Madryn knew full well.

The corridor leading to Lord Valaren's rooms
was deserted at this time of the evening, too late for dinner, too
early for assignations. The hallway was lined with thick draperies
in the royal colors of midnight blue and gold, interspersed here
and there with statues of valiant leaders or dead rulers. Behind
some of the curtains, Madryn knew, secret doors led to observation
ports and less desirable places.

Information was the prime currency at Queen
Ffania's court.

At the farthest end of the corridor was the
main door to Lord Valaren's chambers.

Madryn paused as soon as she saw it, all her
senses alert. No one stood guard duty at the opulent entrance. The
thick dark wood, carved by the finest of artisans, gleamed alone
and unappreciated in the silent corridor.

Madryn paced slowly forward, her eyes
leaping everywhere, her battle-honed nerves twanging in alarm.

But the scene was a peaceful one; only the
empty space beside the door spoke of any reason for
apprehension.

Madryn seized the handle that was formed in
the shape of a dragon; her other had was on the hilt of her sword.
She swung the huge door open and entered on silent feet, peering
around the dim hallway, alert for traps of any variety.

Empty. Silent.

A luxurious room, off which opened doors to
other rooms, all closed. Thick scented candles lined a narrow shelf
just above her eye level; most of them were cold, but a few gave
out a soft golden glow.

A flicker of movement caught Madryn's eye.
Her grip tightened on her sword—an instant before she recognized
the flashing shadow as her own reflection in the tall mirror that
stood opposite the door, at the far end of the hall.

Heart pounding, Madryn shut the outer door
behind her. She made sure she heard the latch click home, and then
with one hand—the other was still glued to the hilt of her
sword—she maneuvered a long iron rod across it, to bar all
entrance.

There
, she thought in
satisfaction
. If anyone is here who shouldn't be, there'll
be
no escape this way.

The entrance secured, Madryn walked softly
toward the door to Lord Valaren's office, beyond which were his
study, bedchamber and bath. The door opened at her touch; she
entered the office, all her senses alert.

All was hushed and still, as empty, save for
its flamboyant furnishings, as the hallway outside.

To cross the room took the blink of an eye.
Madryn stood silent, sword in one hand, the other against the door
to Lord Valaren's innermost, and most private rooms.

A small sound, so soft that Madryn was not
sure she had heard it at all, echoed gently from the other side of
the thick door. She pushed it open.

A square study, the walls lined with books
to the high ceiling, a long desk across one corner. Light from two
tall candles danced across leather bindings, cast shadows that
flickered in the small draft from the now-open door.

Empty.

But that so soft sound was louder now; not a
single, but a series of sounds, almost decipherable to Madryn's
troubled mind.

Again she crossed the room on silent feet,
the golden heels of her boots leaving faint impressions in the
sumptuous rugs layered three deep on the floor.

The next door opened onto Lord Valaren's
huge bedchamber. Madryn knew it well. The door was cracked open and
there was an internal glimmer of light, brighter than in any of the
preceding rooms.

Madryn pushed the door open. The muffled
creak of the hinges sounded like a cannon roar to her heightened
senses.

But that small sound was lost on the two
inhabitants of the opulent room.

Lord Valaren Starseeker, council member,
advisor to her majesty the queen, was sprawled naked across his
high, silk-sheeted bed, belly down. His thickly muscled back, arms
and legs glistened with the scented oil. The oil came from a fluted
vase, and Corporal Ranadal was in the process of pouring more of
the thick, viscous fluid onto his lordship's broad back.

The soft little noises that Madryn had heard
through the almost closed door came from Ranadal. Now she could
tell that they were tiny gasps and moans of pain. Purple bruises
glowered on his scrawny naked back. There was blood…

"Ranadal," Madryn said.

The abused corporal turned around, and
Madryn saw whey the noises were so soft and weak. Ranadal made
them, as best he could, through lips that were split and bleeding,
swollen to more than twice their normal size.

"Commander," said the corporal in a
wondering, weary voice, his eyes bleary and confused. An instant
later, his recognition of his commander brought back some small
degree of comprehension to his slack and bleeding face. He snapped
sluggishly to a ragged sort of attention.

The fluted vase fell from his nerveless
fingers to crash on the polished wooden floor. Instantly, the smell
of roses—ripe, thick, cloying in its intensity—spread throughout
the room.

Lord Valaren rolled over in the huge bed
with cat-like grace. Propping himself up on his elbows, he grinned
at Madryn.

"A bit early tonight, aren't you,
Commander?" he purred. "No matter. I was bored with this one
anyway." He waved a negligent hand at Ranadal.

A tremor ripped through the naked, boyish
figure; two tears welled from a blackened eye. The corporal's ribs,
easily counted, deflated as a great, defeated sigh poured from
within his scrawny chest.

Madryn felt something squeeze down hard on
her heart at the sight of the young guard. She had heard the
rumors. Indeed, who could not have heard them? And no one knew
better than she the effect that Lord Valaren could have on
others—he had the same effect on her. But her own desire for this
naked man sprawled on the bed before her was so great, so
overpowering, that she had discounted the rumors, the whispers—not
wishing, not daring to believe them true.

"Corporal. Get dressed. Get out of here,"
Madryn snapped.

Another pair of tears welled from the dark
pits of the young man's eyes. "Bu—bu—but, Commander," he wailed.
Thin clear fluid tinged with red began to drip from his battered
nose. "But, Commander…I don't want to leave."

Lord Valaren laughed, his fleshy lips spread
wide in dark delight. "There, you see, Madryn? Not everyone finds
me as distasteful as you must."

Madryn strode toward the guard. Her legs
were trembling. Her hand, she noticed with surprise, was still
clenched tight about the hilt of her sword. She sheathed her sword
and dropped both hands to her side, though they itched to reach out
and help the poor sniveling man-child that stood beside the bed,
his pale thin legs looking barely strong enough to support his
undersized body.

Disgust rose in a sudden mass, rancid and
acidic in Madryn's throat and mouth, coming near to choking her.
But what disgusted her even more than the man who had damaged this
poor creature before her, was her own continuing, sick desire for
Valaren Starseeker.

"You are dismissed, corporal," Madryn said,
swallowing around the sick obstruction in her throat. "Get dressed
and go."

Corporal Ranadal scrambled on the floor for
his discarded clothing, stepping into the pool of scented oil. A
shard of glass from the broken vase stabbed into one bare foot;
blood, rich and bright, gushed out, its coppery scent mingling with
the overpowering odor of roses. Face confused, eyes dazed, Ranadal
looked at his damaged foot, then leaned down and pulled the shard
out with a slow, lingering movement. A small smile of pleasure
crossed his bruised face. He pulled on his boots and crammed his
head into his jerker, then wandered like a somnambulist from the
room.

"What did you do to him? What did you give
him?" Madryn spat.

Lord Valaren rose into a seated position on
the bed, his legs spread wide and his naked body gleaming in the
light of the many candles massed in the room. He twisted slightly,
and his impressive member sprang forth at once.

Madryn's eyes locked onto that glistening
shaft. With an effort, she dragged them away, looked Lord Valaren
in his laughing black orbs.

"Answer me, damn you," she said through
gritted teeth, determined to control herself before this man.

"Why, I only introduced him to a few
pleasures, Madryn. No harm in that, is there? Surely we all deserve
a bit of pleasure in this dreary, mundane life? And the boy enjoyed
himself, as you saw. He did not wish to leave, did he? No; you
heard him say so yourself."

Lord Valaren's deep, slow voice purred like
some great jungle predator as he stretched and twisted in the
rumpled purple sheets, offering bulging muscles and sleek flat
belly for Madryn's observation…and admiration.

Madryn could feel the pulse beating in her
throat, her breath growing ragged and thick with desire. But the
image of the beaten and bruised corporal stood before her, his
blackened eyes leaking tears even as he expressed his desire for
more abuse.

Did she wish to become like that poor boy?
Did she wish to lose herself in her desires, give up all control to
this man before her, as others had already done?

As she had done on more than one
occasion.

"Get dressed," Madryn ordered, her voice
cracking with the strain of control.

Lord Valaren laughed. "Dressed?" he asked.
"What fun will that be? Better yet, get undressed, Madryn. I will
show you pleasure that you have only dreamed of until now."

Madryn shook her head. She was surprised to
find that her hand was again tight on the hilt of her sword. She
was even more surprised to feel it leaping from its sheath, the
gleaming silvery length clean and true in this dark room that
reeked of the odors of fear and lust…and roses…

Lord Valaren, his mouth spread once more in
that feral grin, swung his legs off the bed and stood up in one
fluid movement, like a dancer; he was careful to avoid the puddle
of rich oil, now tinged ruddy with blood.

"And just what do you think you're going to
do with your sword, my dear?" he asked, his grin broadening to a
leer. "Use it against me? I really don't think you can."

He sauntered forward, each line and angle of
his body infinitely desirable, amazingly provocative. Madryn
watched the intricate interplay of muscle and bone, tendon and
skin, as he moved toward her with his cat-like grace.

Valaren stopped just close enough to touch
her. But his arms hung loose at his sides, his broad chest
gleaming, the tiny hairs that curled across it golden in the
flickering candlelight.

"Well, Madryn? Here I am, well within reach
of that fierce blade. What are you planning to do with that long,
hard thing in your hand?" he taunted.

Madryn swallowed; her mouth was as dry as
desert sands. "What did you do to the boy, Valaren? What did you do
to him, and to all the others like him? What did you do to
me
, to make me want you so?"

Lord Valaren moved faintly closer…so close
that Madryn could see herself reflected in the inky depths of his
eyes. The scent of the oil that covered his sleek, shining body
rose up in hot waves, almost visible in the air about him.

"Why, I do nothing, nothing more that
you—and they—wish me to do, Madryn," he murmured, one long finger
stroking her cheek, tracing the outlines of her lips.

Madryn felt his touch run like wildfire down
into the center of her being.

"No," she said, her breathing ragged; she
tightened her hand on her sword, holding it as if it were her
lifeline. "No. I do not want—to want you as I do. No, and neither
do the others. You use some sort of power, some sort of spell on us
all."

Valaren shrugged, and the candlelight
caressed the muscles in his arms and shoulders. "Well, yes. I must
admit that I do," he said with a silky laugh. "But my poor powers
only work on those seeking the kinds of pleasure…that no one but I
can offer. Most of the others—you have heard of them, I see, but I
think you did not want to believe that they existed—they come to me
for just that reason. Some, like that ridiculous young man you just
sent away, don't know what they're seeking until they…taste it.
You, on the other hand, are an enigma."

"Am I so?" Madryn fixed her violet-gray eyes
on his dark ones, not daring to allow them the opportunity to roam
elsewhere over that sleek, hard body so close before her. "In what
way?"