I’ll
say one thing for Lucien; despite all his obvious flaws and faults, he does
keep his gaol clean.
The
downpour had started again in earnest shortly before night fell, and the stone
walls of my cell were dank and cold.
There was, however, a fire burning in the small fireplace in the
opposite wall which managed to chase away the dampness. I was lying, fingers laced behind my head,
on the pile of fragrant straw thoughtfully provided for my comfort, when I
heard the outer door hinges creak. The
jailer had left an hour ago; I’d berated him about the conditions I was being
kept in and I was sure he’d gone to take up my concerns with his
superiors. He’d pretended to be
annoyed, rolling his eyes and shaking his balding head but I know he himself
was as appalled at my cell as I was.
“Sleeping
well, Mistress Wickett?” Lucien’s voice
rolled quietly over me. I paused for a
few seconds before opening my eyes and fixing him a suitably haughty glare. He sighed and wrapped his hands around two
of the bars separating us. “Marlo, why
must you continuously allow trouble to follow you wherever you go?” When I didn’t answer he turned and stooped
to retrieve a log and toss it into the fireplace. “Master Wintermoor is safely out of town. I’ll have no more trouble between the two of
you while in Knightsbridge, or between you and anyone else for that
matter.” He straightened up, rubbing
his hands, and cast a stern glance at me.
“Am I understood?”
I
groaned in mock boredom and got slowly to my feet, carefully brushing away
clinging bits of straw. “I need no
lecture, Lucien. But if attacked I will
defend myself.” He opened his mouth to
speak but I cut him off. “I won’t argue
with you, Captain.” I allowed my eyes
to narrow lips to curl into a lascivious grin.
“In fact, I can’t, since I’m struck speechless at being in your presence
again.”
He
stood there for a few seconds, mouth still agape, then broke into a loud bout
of laughter. When he regained his
composure his expression had softened, and he came to stand beside the bars to
my cell. “Touche. It’s been far too long since you’ve come
through here, Marlo. I missed you
terribly.”
Now
we come to a point in my tale that the master bards like to call a plot
twist. You see, Lucien and I were
lovers once. In fact, we have a
son. We were set to be wed at one time,
until we both had changes of heart. He
could not bear to be married to a woman who would insist on traveling often, and
I could not bear to be … well, married.
It’s just not in my nature. Our
son, Gavin, is growing into a strapping young lad of ten years. He lives with Lucien here in Knightsbridge,
and I see him whenever I can. As you
can probably tell, being a full-time mother is also not in my nature. I’ve promised him he can start traveling with
me when he turns fifteen, if Lucien will permit. Speaking of Lucien, I can see by the expression on his face he’s
lecturing me again.
“I
really wish you would spend more time here with Gavin, Marlo. He’s a fine boy, and he misses you.” He really does have a point. When Gavin was born we lived in
Highfork. I lived there with him for
five years, then the three of us moved here so Lucien could take a Captain’s
post. Not long after that Thalin came
hunting for me. I was terribly bored,
and decided to take to the road again.
And no, the decision was not an easy one.
I
hadn’t had a serious moment for a few days, so I decided the time was right for
it. “Thalin and I are going to
Chandreskahr to find someone. It should
take us a few days of travel, a few days in the city, and a few days back. I’ll take some time off, if you’ll have me,
perhaps as much as a year or so. I’ve
made some good profits the past few months.
It should be enough to keep me for quite some time.”
One
corner of his mouth turned up in that sweet little grin he reserves only for
me. “That would be good.” He fished on his belt for his key ring and
held one up for me to see. “Care to
accompany me to the tavern for a bite?
When I came by a few minutes ago I could smell one of Sara’s famous
roasts broiling over the fire.”
I
gave him an exaggerated expression of shocked outrage. “And be seen with you? I almost prefer to stay here and enjoy all
the comforts of your gaol.”
He
shrugged and turned toward the door.
“Suit yourself, but from what Thalin said Marcus interrupted your meal.”
“Wait!” I bowed my head in submission and he turned,
eyes twinkling with mischief. “Fine,
I’ll go with you. But you have to pay.”
I
left Lucien’s house three days later on a brisk, chilly autumn morning. Typically when I sleep in a bed I try to
never see the sunrise but I’d promised to meet Thalin at the tavern for
breakfast. I’d given Gavin a kiss with
a promise that I would be back in a fortnight, left a pouch containing fifty
gold barons on the table, and placed a fresh cut rose on the pillow I’d
used. Lucien had been asleep. No need to wake him, as I tend to be
somewhat grouchy this early in the morning.
The cold air was fragrant with the scent of dead leaves, and much of the
mud left from the rains had dried.
I
was dressed in fawn-colored suede breeches tucked into knee-high black boots
(with silver buckles, of course). My
shirt was fine Gallison silk, cut in the latest fashion with laced front and
dueling cuffs. I’d selected a doublet
of black velvet with half sleeves and slashed shoulders, strips of scarlet
peeping through the artfully sewn cuts.
My gloves were also black, suede, with cuffs that came halfway to my
elbow. I wore my wide-brimmed black hat
with the black feathers, having made the painful decision to leave my other
hats at Lucien’s. For a cloak I had
chosen a heavy velvet affair that was rust red with a black silk lining. I was traveling light, and had only four
shirts, two pairs of breeches, and my favorite green coat packed into my
saddlebags. As usual, Sea Wind hung
from by swordbelt on the left side, and her matching main-gauche rode on the
right. My crossbow was tied down at the
back of my saddle, and my two jeweled daggers peeped up from their sheaths in
the tops of my boots. I had two more
daggers secreted away on my person, but I won’t go into where they were;
suffice to say only a detailed search would find them. Rule number one of being me: always dress for the occasion. That is, always dress in the most expensive
clothing of the latest fashion one can afford, no matter what it may be one is
doing.
Thalin
was his usual chipper self. My light
banter brought only a surly grunt. I’ll
never understand why he takes all my comments toward him as insults. Sure, I use the words ‘hairball’, ‘stumpy’,
‘grumpy’, and more, but I wouldn’t call them insults. It’s not my fault the words are true. We ate oatmeal porridge and drank bitter black tea in
silence. Well, in what passes for
silence as me, which is to say I talked between bites and sips. After we were finished he paid our tab and
we were on our way to Chandreskahr.
We
rode the morning out enjoying the ride and stopped for a midday break at a
small stream that ran parallel to the road.
The King’s Road is well maintained and kept, patrolled by squads of
soldiers from the White Plume Legion, King Peldrin’s peacekeeping force and
personal guard. They do a fine job but
the whole white plume thing on the helmets is a little ridiculous to me. Their tabards are white with gold trim, with
the King’s Crest emblazoned on the front in gold. Personally I think a splash of color would really help, but I’m
not likely to get my way soon. Sure, I
sent a letter to King Peldrin with my suggestions but have yet to receive an
answer. If I am ever in his court again
I will make sure to bring it up, as well as my concerns with the poor system of
delivering the post.
A
few miles after we crossed the stream we rode through a small copse of oak and
hickory trees. Thalin was in the lead,
and just as he grunted a warning I saw a flash of color to the left, followed
by a searing pain in my left shoulder.
Looking down I saw the stumpy shaft of a crossbow bolt sprouting from my
upper shoulder. It had been slowed some
by my heavy cloak, but still hurt like the blazes.
Now
this is something that really makes me angry.
Sure I was in pain, but the most exasperating thing is that blood is
extremely difficult to get out of silk.
Not to mention that once a silk shirt has a hole in it, there is almost
no way to repair it. Couple that with
the fact that I refuse to wear a garment that is either A) stained, or B) has
been repaired, and you may understand my rage.
My cloak, doublet, and shirt would all have to be replaced.
Thalin
had already tucked himself into a hairy ball and catapulted out of his mule’s
saddle. Yes, he still rides a
mule. It used to be worse; when I first
met him he refused to ride anything but a donkey. I don’t remember exactly what happened to that donkey, but I do
know that he still keeps a few of its tail hairs braided into his beard to
remind him of the beast. How anyone can
get that attached to a donkey is beyond me, but I’ve never gotten an answer
despite my many inquiries into the subject.
They
came out of hiding then, three burly thugs sporting brigandine armor,
crossbows, and gap-toothed grins.
Behind them, at least less bedraggled than the last time I had seen him,
was Marcus Wintermoor. He gave me a
smile that was pure spite and drew his saber.
I see he’s decided to upgrade, as he’s wearing a small buckler strapped
to his left forearm.
“We’ve
been waiting and watching for you to come through here and fall into our little
ambush you sniveling sow. At last my
honor will be assuaged. Prepare yourself!” He’s getting better; only a few specks of
spittle flew from his lips when he screeched it. I sighed and stepped out of my saddle, then reached over with my
right hand, gripped the crossbow bolt by its blunt end and ripped it out. Yes, that hurt. Luckily it hadn’t penetrated too deeply. I could feel blood begin to course freely
from the wound and took a few seconds to rip off a piece of my ruined shirt and
plug it into the hole.
“Marcus,
you’ll really wish you’d hired more thugs in a few minutes.” One of them, apparently insulted by being
called a ‘thug’, grunted and fired his weapon at me. In a move calculated to strike fear into the hearts of my enemies
I dipped my shoulder slightly and batted the bolt away. It flew into the thicket behind me, tumbling
end over end. With that Thalin roared a
battle cry, some nonsense about the might of dwarves, and charged. I felt bad for the three hired men, certain
that Marcus had not paid them nearly enough to face my dwarven companion’s
wrath. Marcus gave a high-pitched
shriek and charged at me as I drew Sea Wind.
He
began with a high overhand slash, which I promptly parried, then tried to smash
me in the face with his buckler. Oh,
lovely; it’s got short spikes on it. I
managed to evade it and kicked him in the side of the knee. He went sideways but he quickly regained his
footing. As he twisted away I gave him
a love bite from Sea Wind across his cheek.
Two inches long, the slash laid his face open, and blood flowed freely
from it. There. Let’s see how HE likes getting blood out of
his clothes. He shrieked again, this
time in pain, and came at me with a flurry of blows. He was in a rage now, and I had no trouble in parrying his blade
aside. After a few seconds I grew tired
of that, so I parried high and stepped in close. I kneed him hard in the groin and hooked the cup hilt of his
saber on my crossbar, danced aside to avoid his buckler, and ripped the saber
out of his grip as he lost control of his muscles. His hands went instinctively to his groin as he sank to his
knees, eyes crossed, and promptly vomited.
He might not have vomited had he not struck himself in the crotch with
the edge of his buckler. I gave him a
moment to regain his composure, then stuck fully a foot of the point of his
saber into the ground in front of him.
Thalin
had the three bandits well in hand. One
was already down and one had a bloody gash across his abdomen. Two bolts sprouted from Thalin’s armor, but
he wasn’t slowed by them. I’ve seen him
fight with as many as eight or nine arrows in him. I’ll give him one thing; dwarves are tough, and once they get
going they’re hard to stop. He head
butted his third opponent in the gut, knocking him on his rump, and turned back
toward the wounded man. He’s fine, so
I’ll get back to Marcus.
The
younger Wintermoor was trying to get to his feet, his face almost purple from
pain and fury. He was gasping for
breath, and since he was using his saber as a prop he only succeeded in driving
it further into the ground. I retrieved
a flask of brandy from my saddlebag and gave it to him, then turned my
attention to the bolt wound in my shoulder.
The bleeding had slowed to a trickle so I improvised a better bandage
out of another swathe of my shirt.
Thalin had all three bandits down by this time and he was in the midst
of tying one of them securely. I
assumed that one was still alive, since he didn’t seem to be paying any
attention to the other two.
Marcus
finally fumbled the top off the flask and took a long pull, coughed, then drank
again. The color of his face was
returning to a shade resembling normal and he was breathing better. After a few minutes he managed to stand,
then extricated his saber from the ground.
He winced as he tried to assume an en garde stance, then gave up and sat
down on the ground. I squatted a few
feet from him and looked him in the eye.
“I
really don’t want to kill you Marcus.
If I did you would have been dead weeks ago.” Thalin had finished tying the brigand up and was busily rifling through
their pouches and clothing for valuables.
“Your brother was guilty. It is
he who damaged your family’s honor, Marcus, not me. You should turn your attention toward repairing the damage
instead of this futile vendetta against me that you will never win.”
Thalin
dangled a large pouch bulging with coins in front of me. I took it and extracted fifty gold barons
from it. It still had about twenty in
it when I tossed it in Marcus’ lap.
“This is the money you paid those men to help kill me. I took out the cost of a new shirt, doublet,
and cloak. The rest is yours.” I stood and poured the money into my
saddlebag. “You’re not a bad sort, Lord
Wintermoor. Your insults need work,
your swordsmanship is atrocious, your fashion sense is nonexistent, and your
anger is misguided.” I gestured at the
woods. “I’m sure your horse is still
there somewhere, along with theirs.
We’ll be on the road or at the last inn we reach at nightfall. If you’d like to join us for a tankard of
ale, feel free.”
The
two of us stepped into the saddle (myself quite gracefully, I might add) and
turned our mounts’ heads back onto the road.
When I looked back Marcus was getting to his feet and gingerly walking
into the woods. Thalin grunted a
laugh. “Think he’ll catch up with us?”
I
smiled. “I think he will, though
whether with blade drawn or not I can’t say.”
We
rode on in silence. My regret was that
there were no witnesses to the brief duel that had just occurred except Marcus
and Thalin. Marcus would tell noone,
and Thalin would never tell the truth of the matter. Which is to say, he would never admit that I had singlehandedly
bested Marcus and twenty of his finest guards with one hand tied behind my
back. On a bridge. Dodging crossbow bolts. Oh yes, and wearing a blindfold.
Rule
three of being me: always make sure
there are witnesses to spread my legend.
Rule
four? I’m always the best, in any given
situation and against any opponent.
