The Name Of The Sword (Book 4) (5 page)

He released her hand, walked around her carefully, examining her from all sides and commenting, “Yes, quite lovely, isn’t she, Bayellgae?”

“Yesss, massster.”

“Always the most beautiful girl at the ball.”

He stopped in front of her, and again his eyes settled on her breasts. “In fact, you’re so lovely, I might have to bed you myself.”

She saw in his eyes that he meant it. It was no jest, and with that realization her heart began to pound and nausea washed up her gut and into her throat. She stepped back a pace, gagged and gulped trying to keep her breakfast down.

Valso must have realized she was close to emptying her stomach, for his eyes widened and he stepped back fearfully, as if he didn’t want her to soil his boots. She managed to control her heaving stomach, and took some satisfaction in the look on his face.

••••

Lewendis eyed the Elhiyne border patrol in the distance. His gut clenched with anger as he thought of the last time he’d faced one of them. DaNoel had deployed archers, had used them to send Lewendis running fearfully back to his men, a few of whom had smiled in amusement. Even the grizzled old sergeant who’d led these men for years had had trouble hiding a grin. Lewendis had lost the respect of some of his men because of DaNoel, and he would not allow that to happen again.

The old sergeant didn’t approve of Lewendis’ plans, so he didn’t look at the fellow as he said, “Deploy the archers.”

••••

“There, my lord,” one of the armsmen said, pointing north. “A Penda patrol.”

Alcoa, March Lord and sworn to Elhiyne, looked across the creek that marked the border between Elhiyne and Penda. In the distance the Penda patrol reined in their horses and came to a stop. Both patrols rode forward, though the Pendas stopped about two hundred paces from the creek, and their leader issued orders, pointing left and right. His men spread out in a wide, skirmish line, strung their bows and nocked arrows.
Strange!
Alcoa thought.
And provocative!
He decided not to respond in kind.

He’d had reports from Brandon and JohnEngine of tension on the border with Penda. His own lands, bordered on the south by Aud, on the west by the sea, on the east by Elhiyne and on the north by Penda, were usually rather quiet. The worst he’d had to contend with for quite some years now were the occasional bandit or highwayman, and this new stress with Penda worried him greatly. He was too old for war, was looking forward to a doddering old age.

Following the old formulas, he and the Penda leader nudged their horses forward into a walk. At a hundred paces Alcoa did not recognize the Penda, had not met the man before, though from the description provided by JohnEngine and Brandon he thought the fellow might be the hothead Lewendis, and wondered why the idiot felt compelled to deploy his men in such an aggressive way. They each stopped their horses about ten paces from the creek, and for some reason the Penda appeared openly hostile, as if the two had some personal grievance between them.

“Elhiyne,” the fellow said, his voice devoid of any decorum. “What do you want?”

Alcoa refused to be baited. “I am March Lord Alcoa, and you are?”

The fellow lifted his chin proudly. “I am Lord Lewendis.” He’d placed great emphasis on the word
Lord
.

Alcoa said. “Greetings, Lord Lewendis. I hope all is well.”

Alcoa’s politeness clearly took the fellow by surprise. His eyes narrowed as if reevaluating the situation. “I am well.”

“And your family?”

“Them too. Is there a point to this?”

The fellow’s rudeness seemed more than just a symptom of his prickly nature. Alcoa said, “I am only following the formulas that our clans have followed for centuries.”

“Of course,” Lewendis said, as if he didn’t believe a single word from Alcoa’s mouth.

Alcoa continued. “And I have a problem with a pig thief. Well . . . now you have the problem. He crossed into Penda lands about three leagues east of here. He’s a heavyset fellow of average height, with dark hair and a jagged scar on his left cheek. If you catch him, I’d prefer that you return him to me alive. We’ll hang him ourselves.”

“And why should I do your work for you?”

Alcoa couldn’t believe his ears. “Why, because we have cooperated in these matters for centuries. And because if you don’t, he’ll just start stealing your pigs.”

Lewendis frowned and appeared disappointed at the obvious logic of Alcoa’s words. “Very well, we’ll find your pig thief for you, though I can’t promise we won’t hang him ourselves. Is there anything else?”

At this point they should be trading information about the state of their mutual border, and Lewendis’ attitude truly baffled Alcoa. “No,” he said. “Nothing.”

Lewendis looked him over as if trying to decide whether to have his archers murder him. “Then you’d best hurry back to your men, before my archers grow impatient, and we have an accident.”

For some reason Lewendis wanted to provoke Alcoa. “I’ll ride back, but slowly and without hurry. And if one of your archers grows impatient and puts an arrow in my back, you’ll have to answer to the Lady Olivia as well as your own lord.”

Alcoa reined his horse around, doing so with deliberate casualness. Then he nudged the animal into a slow walk, though throughout the ride back to his men, the skin between his shoulder blades itched unmercifully.

5
The Steel in a Bargain

With the winged demon snake coiled on his shoulder, Valso held out his arm. “Come, Lady Rhianne.”

Rhianne had not expected Valso to arrive at her suite accompanied by Bayellgae. He sometimes used the snake to execute those who displeased him, did so at odd moments, apparently on no more than a whim. She’d heard that the venom of its bite turned the skin black, a dark stain that spread outward from the wound, an agonizingly slow process that consumed its victim body and soul. The pain was reputed to be so great that death came as a relief. She wondered if there was something she might do to protect herself against that venom.

At her hesitation, Valso smiled. She had no choice, so she took his arm, and with the snake’s head weaving from side-to-side only inches from her throat, she accompanied the king like some courtesan down to the Great Hall of Decouix. Just outside the hall they met Carsaris waiting for them, a tall, stick-thin skeleton of a man. Rhianne had heard of Carsaris, had met him briefly when they’d returned Illalla to Durin in chains. He was reputed to be very powerful, and a close confidant of the king, though his large, round eyes seemed to be shadowed by fear and distrust. And his thin nose and sunken cheeks only added to his spectral appearance.

Valso positioned Rhianne at the bottom of the dais upon which sat the great throne of Decouix. He put her on the left side, the off-hand side, then brushed the winged snake off his shoulder. It buzzed across the room and settled on a perch. Valso ascended the dais and sat upon the throne majestically, glanced down her way and she saw only malice in his face.

The Great Hall seemed rather bereft of courtiers. There was Valso on his throne, with Carsaris standing beside him on the dais, Rhianne at the bottom of the dais to his left, and Salula at the bottom to his right. Beyond that there were only Kullish guards lining the walls. The hall was a vast space, and its emptiness did not befit the grand court of the king of the Greater Clans. At the far end of the room the two massive doors that gave formal entry to the place seemed diminished by the unfilled distance that separated her from them.

“Please,” Valso announced loudly. “If Her Majesty is ready to address me, I would have her come before me as an equal.”

He had said,
Her Majesty
. There were no monarchs in the Lesser Clans, and only Valso in the Greater. That left Aiergain, but everything Rhianne had heard of the Mistress of Aud would not put her here conspiring with the Decouix.

Two Kulls threw open the great doors at the far end of the hall. They slammed against the stone walls with a loud crash that echoed through the vast space, revealing a small group standing just outside the hall. The distance was too great for Rhianne to make out any detail other than that they were dressed in an unusual kaleidoscope of bright colors.

Valso’s chamberlain preceded them. He stopped halfway down the length of the hall and loudly announced a string of titles for this queen. Somewhere buried in his words was a name, but Rhianne recognized neither titles nor name.

The queen marched forward slowly in a stately fashion. She was followed by her retinue, who seemed a rather unruly bunch. And there was something quite odd about all of them. They walked with a strange gait, and from a distance the skin of their arms and faces appeared to be light brown, much darker than the norm within the clans. Closer yet and Rhianne saw that their legs were misshapen, or rather their knees seemed to bend the wrong way. And their faces were elongated, ending in a strange sort of muzzle very unusual for any person. They stopped a few paces distant, and still Rhianne didn’t understand what stood before her.

Then her perception shifted, and she realized she was looking at dogs standing tall on their hind legs, walking like humans. The queen wore a strange hat with holes from which her long, pointed ears protruded, and a floor length gown that hid her legs. Behind her stood two dogs dressed in military garb, with epaulets and symbols of rank decorating their uniforms. And behind them milled an unruly group of warriors.

“Magwa,” Valso said. He stood and descended the steps of the dais. “We are honored that the queen of the jackal court has accepted our invitation.”

Jackal,
Rhianne realized,
not dog
.

“Valso,” Magwa said. Her voice came out in a strange sing-song, half way between the howling of a dog and the voice of a human. “Your messenger said you need my assistance in a matter of some urgency. But first . . .”

The jackal queen’s head turned slowly and her gaze settled on Rhianne. The malice she saw in the bitch-queen’s eyes made Valso’s pale in comparison. Magwa walked casually toward her and stopped only a pace away. She examined Rhianne carefully from head to toes, then said, “This . . . I take it . . . is his bride?”

Rhianne struggled to hide her trembling. Valso approached and stopped beside Magwa, grinning at Rhianne’s unease. “Yes,” he said. “She’s a lovely thing, isn’t she?” He spoke to Magwa but his eyes never left Rhianne.

Magwa asked, “And she is—what you humans consider—beautiful?” Like Valso, her eyes remained locked on Rhianne.

“Quite so,” Valso said.

“And
he
is dead?”

“We never recovered his body, but it appears that he did die.”

“And this matter of some urgency?”

“There is a sword, a very important and unusual blade. It is no longer on any plane of existence, so it can only be in the one place that you are uniquely qualified to invade.”

“And that would be?”

Valso finally took his eyes off Rhianne and turned his head to look at Magwa. “The Kingdom of Dreams, my dear.”

Magwa continued to stare at Rhianne. “And why should I assist you?”

Valso’s words were almost a smug insult. “Because it will make our mutual master happy. And if you do not, he will be sorely displeased.”

“But the Living Forest will oppose us.”

“Our master will see that the Living Forest does not hinder you.”

Magwa nodded slowly, accepting his words with indifference. “Very well, we’ll get your blade for you. But I do have a price.”

“And that is?”

If a jackal’s face could be said to grin, Magwa’s did. “I never had the opportunity to exact my revenge upon her husband, not in a properly long and drawn-out fashion. I killed his Benesh’ere alter-ego quite a few centuries ago, but that was too quick and not at all satisfying. So when I bring you this sword, you will give
her
to me.” She nodded her head, indicating the jackal warriors standing behind her. “So that I can give her to them.”

For the first time Rhianne truly looked at the warriors standing behind Magwa. The eyes of every one of them were locked on her, and in their faces she saw their anger and hatred; she saw her fate.

“They too want revenge,” Magwa said. “So her death will be long and slow in the making.”

“Done!” Valso said happily.

Rhianne did not faint, but her knees gave out and she could no longer stand. No one bothered to catch her as she fell to the cold, stone floor.

••••

Chrisainne kept Valso’s odd little charm in a pouch around her neck. The coin was much too important to just leave lying around, for without it she’d have no way of contacting him, would have to wait for him to contact her. Interestingly, while she was not a weak witch, she couldn’t sense even a hint of the magic he’d poured into it, which impressed her even further with his strength and power.

Alone in her room, she sat down in a chair, then kissed the coin and closed her eyes to wait.

After several moments Valso said,
I’m busy, so make it quick.

Your Majesty, the situation on the border should begin to heat up nicely. Apparently, Lord DaNoel is as much a hothead as Lewendis.

Good. You’re doing well, girl. Keep up the pressure. I’ll get back to you later.

Valso withdrew from her thoughts.

An hour later BlakeDown had her pinned against the back wall of the stable when Valso returned to her.
You have done well, girl. My compliments.

Thank you, Your Majesty. I am pleased that you are pleased.

BlakeDown pounded in and out of her with his usual lack of grace or finesse. She had recently become rather adept at communicating with Valso while in the presence of others. It was especially easy to do so with BlakeDown while lust clouded his mind. “Oh, my lord,” she cried out, pretending that his crude and unskilled efforts brought her pleasure.

I take it you and BlakeDown are enjoying yourselves?

No, Your Majesty. I see to it that he enjoys himself, but at lovemaking he is a graceless pig, so I must pretend.

Well then I feel even more indebted to you, girl.

No, Your Majesty. Please don’t feel that way. I take great pleasure in serving you, even if I take none from him.

BlakeDown’s efforts grew more frantic, he grunted loudly and jerked spasmodically as he spilled his seed inside her. She cried out again, pretending to climax along with him, thinking she’d have to check the charms she had concocted to prevent pregnancy.

When BlakeDown had finished he held her pinned against the wall for some seconds while he caught his breath. Then he withdrew from her, stepped back, reached out and grabbed a fold of her skirts. He wiped his penis on it, and said, “Girl, you are a wonder! How you bring such pleasure I cannot fathom.”

She blushed purposefully and said, “And you, my lord, return the pleasure ten-fold.”

He pulled up his pants, tied the laces carefully. Then he leaned forward, kissed her on the cheek and clutched one of her breasts, squeezing it like an apprentice cook might knead bread. “I have a meeting with one of my liegemen, so I must leave you.” He turned and strode out of the stable.

Such a consummate actress,
Valso said.

It is necessary, Your Majesty.

Perhaps, when you return to Durin, I might personally show you real pleasure.

That would only be added reward for me, Your Majesty. But until then, I will continue to lead BlakeDown down the path to war.

Be careful,
he said.
Not too soon. I do not want open war until the time is right. For the time being, let’s keep it at just a skirmish or two.

Yes, Your Majesty. I value your guidance in all matters.

As you should. Don’t fail me, girl. Keep the blister irritated, but don’t pop it. Do this properly for me, and you will be quite happy with your reward.

Thank you, Your Majesty.

Valso withdrew from her mind. She pulled up her smallclothes, retied the laces, arranged her petticoats and her skirt, then laced her blouse.

While BlakeDown had brought her no pleasure, the act of pleasuring him had aroused her greatly, and she needed to sate her own lust. Time to find that stable boy.

••••

Clearly, Captain Rafaellen considered it his duty to keep Morgin and Rhiannead separated, while Kenna hovered over her constantly. Rafaellen had a troop of 12 soldiers, a reasonable escort in friendly territory. He placed Morgin at the rear of the column with a squad of his soldiers while he, Rhiannead and Kenna rode at the head of the group, with scouts ranging ahead. As they rode Morgin tried to draw out the soldiers near him, but they were a tight-lipped bunch, so he quickly gave up and rode in silence.

He longed to be near Rhiannead, was drawn to her by the flood of memories that had come at the touch of their hands. Was she aware of Rhianne, as he and Morddon had been aware of one another? Throughout that day he recalled his memories of haunting the ancient Benesh’ere warrior’s soul. In the far-distant past they had fought as one in the Great Clan Wars, fought alongside archangels and griffin lords, and together suffered the Archangel Metadan’s betrayal. Was Rhianne hidden there somewhere in Rhiannead’s soul, and could he learn from her Rhianne’s fate at the hands of Salula? He needed to return to Rhianne, to rescue her from Salula, but how did one get out of the Kingdom of Dreams and return to the Mortal Plane? The Unnamed King would know the answer to that, another reason to find him.

Throughout that day, Rhiannead repeatedly turned about in her saddle and glanced back his way. She must have done so a hundred times, and each time Kenna and Rafaellen took note of it, and each time he saw their distrust of him deepen. And each time he found it harder to believe that she was not Rhianne.

That evening they camped near a small brook. Morgin unsaddled Mortiss, let her drink her fill, fed her from the troop’s supply of oats, then tethered her with the rest of the horses. While Rafaellen and a few of his soldiers pitched a tent for Rhiannead and Kenna, Morgin and the rest collected rocks and assembled two fire pits. One of the soldiers pointed Morgin to a seat at the pit farthest from the tent, farthest from Rhiannead. Morgin carefully chose a position from which he could watch her, though it was a torment to do so since it only fueled his desire to speak with her, to learn if she knew of Rhianne. And she, either by chance or design, sat down in a spot where she could watch him.

They prepared a simple meal, a soldier’s meal. Morgin chewed on some beans, and a tough biscuit, and some jerky that had been cooked in the beans but still had the consistency of leather, and he watched Rhiannead, though he tried not to be obvious about doing so. He had loved her for centuries, though he didn’t understand how he could love anyone for such a length of time since he was mortal, or
morgin
in the old tongue.

Morgin and the soldiers bedded down in the open, and when he finally crawled into his blanket, it had been a long day filled with frustration. Before he closed his eyes he noticed that Rafaellen’s soldiers positioned their blankets so they formed a clearly defined defensive wall, surrounding him and separating him from Rhiannead, who had disappeared into the tent with Kenna. Or was she Rhianne?

No, he would not allow himself to be fooled by her looks. But it all seemed so confusing.