Rigunth wanted to rush down to greet them, Safiya just chuckled, "Oh no, Father does not approve of such displays. It is much more dignified if we await him in our quarters. Give him, them time to shed their armor and change into more appropriate and comfortable clothing. Besides I am certain, if I know Father, he will be bellowing orders as soon as he dismounts to anyone in range or he sees."
And she knew the man alright.
Some time later...
Safiya had changed into a better quality dress than she had been wearing for everyday fare, her little servant girl had fitted on her brightly colored slippers, a gift of her father last year. By now, Safiya had made certain Rigunth had a variety of dresses to choose from too as befitted an honored guest and now good friend. The brunette looked into a mirror held by the girl and checked that every strand of her dark locks were in their proper place.
"M'lady, will your father let Lady Rigunth go or do you think he will execute her?" the girl suddenly cheekily inquired, but she was quick to turn to their guest, "Not that I want that but I be just asking." She finished that comment with a toothy grin, the scamp.
"Execute her? Nonsense! I would simply not allow it. Besides what purpose would that serve and Father does nothing without a good reason or as he says 'to gain a tactical advantage'," Tancred's daugher scoffed.
"You will meet him at the night's banquet. We always have a banquet when Father comes back from the wars.
The thought of meeting Sir Pons again made Rigunth's stomach turn, and she could only hope that the sight of the clod would not stop her enjoying the tasty fayre at the promised banquet. She also wondered, her family pride resurfacing for the first time really, since she had come here, where she would be placed at table: if she was made to sit below the salt, it would be a slap in the face, as the niece of one of the most powerful men in Sask, whether you accepted Offo's claim to kingship or not.
She opened her mouth to reply to Safiya, but the thought of the possible slight and of having to speak again with the odious Sir Pons strangled the words in her throat, and she had to be content with giving her jailor, and now friend, a tight smile instead.
Then she pointed. "Who is that funny little priest at the back? He looks out of place in the train of bold knights, and that fellow with the red shield with the wavy white cross seems to be guarding him, almost."
"Hmmmm, Father usually does not have a priest along on his campaigns, no place for a priest he says. Oh that face...yes, he looks familiar. He was at the castle once when I was a child. Aqualin? Acron? Something like that. He patted me on the head...that I remember," Safiya recalled.
Rigunth nodded her understanding. Maybe he would be at the feast and give her news of the outside world: for suddenly such a place existed again after this insular existence.
"As for the knight, I do not recognize the shield. Perhaps he is a mercenary recently hired for the war? He looks young and ....quite handsome at least from up here," Safiya pointed out.
The prisoner bent forward and squinted her eyes, but it was no good. She didn't recognise him, but there was something somehow familiar about him, it was the oddest sensation. Rigunth turned to Safiya. "Can we go down to meet them?"
"Well, that's true!" Rigunth commented.
"You will meet him at the night's banquet. We always have a banquet when Father comes back from the wars.
Then she pointed. "Who is that funny little priest at the back? He looks out of place in the train of bold knights, and that fellow with the red shield with the wavy white cross seems to be guarding him, almost."
"Hmmmm, Father usually does not have a priest along on his campaigns, no place for a priest he says. Oh that face...yes, he looks familiar. He was at the castle once when I was a child. Aqualin? Acron? Something like that. He patted me on the head...that I remember," Safiya recalled.
"As for the knight, I do not recognize the shield. Perhaps he is a mercenary recently hired for the war? He looks young and ....quite handsome at least from up here," Safiya pointed out.
They were looking for Sir Pons, the hilarious joker in the pack.
"Oh, he's down there. I see him. Just to the left of my father slightly behind him. The red and black striped shield," Safiya pointed down.
"Oh yes... wonderful!" smiled Rigunth, trying make her relief that the man had survived sound convincing. "So why do you like him, is it just the teeth and the... laughter?" Yes, probably laughing at his own cruel jests, the captive girl guessed.
"He once saved me from a wild dog. When I was thirteen, we - a few girls my age and I - were wandering about outside of the town just enjoying the sunny day and this large dog - I thought it was a wolf at first - came out of some brush and charged us. Pons was watching over us that day and just when the dog dragged me to the ground by my skirts.....he was upon the creature and killed it. And then he joked about it too."
Oh, that'd be a change!
"How brave and gay!" nodded Rigunth. She liked Safiya a lot, and swallowed down her dislike of the annoying Sir Pons.
"Said that dog had good taste to pick out the prettiest girl in the bunch," she grinned.
Rigunth looked the beautiful Safiya up and down.
"Well, that's true!" she commented. At least the buffoon wasn't blind.
Then she pointed. "Who is that funny little priest at the back? He looks out of place in the train of bold knights, and that fellow with the red shield with the wavy white cross seems to be guarding him, almost."
"Yes, I've...er... met, Sir Pons."
"He is usually laughing and has a fine smile. His teeth are even better than most," Safiya was definitely not in love with the man, not that it would matter. Her father would decide who she marries and when it would best serve the family fortunes.
"What arms does he bear?! We might be able to spot his shield."
"Oh, he's down there. I see him. Just to the left of my father slightly behind him. The red and black striped shield," Safiya pointed down.
"He once saved me from a wild dog. When I was thirteen, we - a few girls my age and I - were wandering about outside of the town just enjoying the sunny day and this large dog - I thought it was a wolf at first - came out of some brush and charged us. Pons was watching over us that day and just when the dog dragged me to the ground by my skirts.....he was upon the creature and killed it. And then he joked about it too."
"Said that dog had good taste to pick out the prettiest girl in the bunch," she grinned.
Akris listened to the byplay between their host and the twins and smiled inwardly. This lecherous old man was just handing over the keys to his innermost secrets simply for some fantasized hope of having an illicit tryst with some foreign woman who he doesn't even know.
Akris caught the look from the lord when he had mentioned him as a bodyguard, like he was just another soldier in their army. Should this old man try and lay a hand or anything else on Zara, Akris would have to decide if he needed to cut off whatever he touched her with. He understood that the twins were here to gather information, but he was not sure how far the two of them were willing to go to achieve their aims.
The Sand Devil also understood from the comments they made that they would expect him to do his part in gathering information about their host, and his knowledge and plans for the future. Perhaps tonight would be a useful occasion after all.
"Dewch, fy ngwraig! Cuddio!" cried the girl Angharad, grabbing on to her mistress and trying to drag her to a safety that simply did not exist upon a ship under attack from such an ocean-going behemoth.
"Ewch isod!" commanded the Lady Wynn and the girl scuttled off to hide below decks; a location that would prove lethal should the ship go down: a not uncommon fate in attacks of this nature.
It was as a Lady of Brydd that Wynn Rhew Gaeaf had decided to conduct herself beside her beloved husband, and it was as a Lady of Brydd that she now stood, neither retreating nor advancing to the fray: resolute and proud, but not lowering herself to try, like a man, to attack nor defend herself against the wild thrashing tentacles that assailed the crew upon the deck of the Sea Shark, including her own heroic spear-wielding husband.
That lasted about two seconds.
A slimy, sucker-festooned limb wrapped itself around one of the crew - a youngish lad on his first major voyage and he let out a shrill scream as he was bodily lifted off the lurching deck - for the weight of the enormous creature trying to climb up the side of the ship was making it list crazily. Wynn found herself bounding forward, unarmed, and leaping, throwing herself bodily upon the thick tentacle and trying to wrest the lad free. It was magnificent, but it was not war. Another tentacle rose and joined its twin, slithering up her flapping white dress until she experienced a sickening flashback to a night in a sea cave.
Wynn kicked at the new intruder with her free foot: but these were not sturdy dragon-rider boots she was wearing now, but dainty white slippers, and soon both of them were floating in the plashing brine. She could now feel the slimy ooze of the Kraken's limbs on both her legs and feet and on her hands and arms as she hung on for dear life, not daring to let go. But it was too slippery, the next thing she knew, she was being held upside down by the second tentacle, her golden hair dangling down, watching the first tentacle lower the still shrieking lad into the Kraken's maw.
She was doomed, she knew. Swinging upside down over the water, she tried to see Aldrebrand, one last time, on the half submerged deck. Instead, she saw the unlikely sight of an inverted, swaying Angharad pointing an arbalest in her direction... with both eyes closed!
"Naddo!"
Too late. She was in the water now: cold, black, dragging her down by her sodden dress, buffeted by the thrashing motion of the enormous monster under the salt water. Where was Aldebrand? Where was Gruudux? One was many leagues away, the other might as well have been. Where was 'up' - the surface - even? She was dazed. She couldn't hold her breath much longer. Who shot an arbalest with their eyes closed? Was that to be her last thought... ever? The image of that dwp Angharad?!
"Everything in your country is barbed and covered with thorns..."
Zaiden privately wondered what it would feel like to plant a fork in the man's eye. Aloud, he said, "You would be surprised at the soft, subtle pleasures that can be found among the sands, my Lord."
The Lord of the Blackfort blushed and sputtered, and Zaiden could see that the man had indeed given those pleasures some thought. How could he not? Whatever bigotries these people held, they could not hope to miss the fact that his sister was as beautiful as a desert rose.
His sister diverted the conversation to safer topics, and potentially more revealing ones. First, she asked Velom if he would be participating in the tournament. The Templar stiffened, particularly after it was pointed out to him that Sir Lardin would be competing.
"We of the Templars do not squander our strength and honor on games of supposed prestige," he said. "We fight for Ceros, and our contests tend to be to the death. For death is what heresy and lawlessness deserve."
The Templar almost glared in the direction of the Draavosi contingent as he spoke the word 'heresy.'
"A shame," Zaiden lamented aloud, "it must be difficult to win a game that one has never played at. A pity that Ceros does not allow his adherents to sharpen their skills to the level of other knights."
Zara's question about the types of fruits and vegetables on display diverted any potential retort.
Lord Piotr replied, "This is Tomarian fruit. Succulent and sour. And this, Velderberries, sweet and tart. And..." The man seemed to forget his animosity for a moment as he went on and on about the various pieces of produce.
The dinner proceeded without much further incident, until the end of the meal, when a soldier came and whispered in the Templar's ear. He seemed displeased, and waved the man away.
"What news," Lord Piotr asked, the Reeve leaning forward a bit in his chair.
The Templar eyed the guests, "There is a fugitive on the loose," he confessed. "While we enjoyed this supper, I had men search the envoys' rooms to be sure he was not secreted there. Perhaps planning to murder you in your sleep. But we found no sign of him. So it seems you are safe."
Zaiden allowed himself to look surprised. "A fugitive? If this is so, perhaps my sister should sleep elsewhere. What if he should yet sneak into our bedchambers?"
The Templar looked to Akris, "Well then, surely your bodyguard would deal with him." The man peered a gaze of disdain at the Sand Devil.
Zaiden's face was a mask of dismay, "Even so... perhaps there is a more secure location within the Fort?"
The old Reeve's mind was at work behind his bushy eyebrows. Truly, bigotry was no match for desire.
"She may rest in my suite," Lord Piotr suggested, "there are many connected rooms in it, and two bedchambers. She may choose one. It shall be as well protected as if she were my own self."
The Templar seemed appalled. "You can not mean to let one of these... persons... into your personal chambers?!"
Zaiden shrugged, "Normally I might object to such an arrangement myself. But they shall not be sleeping in the same room, surely. Merely the same suite of rooms, yes? And I believe we can count on the Lord Reeve's good conduct. With a malcontent on the loose, it seems the better choice."
The Lord of the Blackfort coughed, cleared his throat, and then nodded his aged head. "It is settled, then. And she may bring the bodyguard to stand watch over her door, if that is desired."
Zaiden smiled broadly, "Your generosity of spirit and hospitality shall be well remembered."
The Templar rose, "Well. I have a fugitive to catch, and this dinner has already cost me much time."
"Happy hunting," Zaiden said as the man withdrew.
He then shared significant glances with his sister and their bodyguard. He only hoped that the Sand Devil could be trusted to do more than he had promised mere hours ago. The Lord of the Fort probably kept many secret things among his personal effects. Secret things that might prove especially valuable to the effort of Al-Ador. This was an unparalleled intelligence-gathering opportunity.
The past several days had been a whirlwind of bizarre twists.
But it had also been a panoply of unexpected delights.
Every disaster had found its solution. Every machination and attack of their unseen enemies had been met with a skillful or fortunate riposte.
And in the midst of the storm, Aldebrand had found the most unexpected of treasures: Wynn.
Wynn, who was the most remarkable woman he'd ever met, and yet no one he ever would have thought to wed. Their romance had been as the lightning of a storm: Electric, powerful, thunderous, beautiful, frightening, and especially sudden. And like the bolts from above, it had seared its mark into them. Their bond may have begun as a practical one to solve a political difficulty, but each shuddering orgasm seemed to fasten it more securely onto their hearts.
It helped, perhaps, that they were both practical people who were discovering an entirely impractical passion together.
It helped also that they were warriors, with honor and duty as their oathwords.
Aldebrand occasionally feared that the magical maneuvers of their unknown foes also had a hand in it, albeit only as an accidental side-effect of their mystical tampering. But surely, even if borne of such poison, an antivenom was still a curative. The relief it offered was no less real, and certainly no less vital.
His only remaining reticence and worry had been that Wynn's station was not a match for his own. He had made certain assumptions about her that had not quite proved out. But by fortune, she'd been adopted by a High Lord of the Gaelic peoples. In their quarters aboard ship, a document proudly proclaimed her new lineage and noble status. She was a Lady true, from a Duke's own family. Or... what appeared to pass for a Duke in Gael.
That, and a chest of coin, would satisfy his parents' demands and the expectation of the Kingdom. While no one would have planned for such a noble union with Gael, and while such a marriage would surely leave some aghast, no one could honestly deny the value of the match. This was how peace was built across the frontier of war. Usually, it would have cost Brydd a Prince or Princess to make such an alliance. Or perhaps a Duke or Dutchess. But Aldebrand had made an important union as the lowly son of a Count. One slated to inherit, yes. But he did not hold that title, yet. It was a political coup.
Soon, they'd be at the Salt Fort, at the table of his Father, and they would toast his success in acquiring such an important bride. Then mother would probably insist on some sort of Bryddic ceremony, even if the deed was already done.
But his musing on such things, as he stood with his arm entwined with Wynn's on the deck of the Sea Shark, was rudely interrupted.
A Kraken!
The foul creatures spawned in these waters, and were food for dragons. But for ships, they were a potentially deadly foe. For the first time in his life, Aldebrand wished a dragon was near. Wynn's weird watery beast would surely have made short work of the creature.
Aldebrand's mind bounced from idea to idea as he hollered for his arms to be brought up, and stepped to the side of the ship to grasp a boarding spear. The weapons were often kept along a ship's long sides for this reason as well as any more conventional action. Rowers were stowing their oars and opening their benches to get hatchets, short swords, and long knives. There was no escaping a Kraken that had decided to make a meal of a ship. There was only brutalizing it until it let you go.
Seizing the spear he sought, he remembered the tale Wynn had told. Her terrible dream. Lured to the sea. Ravaged by sea-creatures.
Truly a foul dream? Or something more? Their foe seemed to be tainted by brine, either in actual truth or merely painted as such in the mind's eye. An interpretation sifted through nightmares. Either way, such a clue couldn't be ignored.
With their first plot having failed, had their unknown enemy used magic to summon up a Kraken?
He could only guess, cynical and suspicious of every bump in their road.
Looking to his side, he saw Wynn. She was marvelous, proud, seemingly unafraid.
Whoever their enemy was, they had erred more deeply than they could imagine. Aldebrand had a warrior bride. Something he could not have hoped for from a traditional match. His gaze was upon her only for a moment, but he caressed her with his eyes in that moment.
Then he turned towards a rising tentacle, the girth of an ancient tree, and hurled his spear like an angry God.
It was called Antirrhinum, Snapdragon Island, and there was little for the tiny promontory of rock in the Burning Sea, too small to appear on any chart or map, to boast of - apart from a profusion of that particular flower. The name itself bespoke of human settlers from the Five Kingdoms, but of them little remained but one interbred extended family of fisherfolk, whose knowledge of the outside world consisted of the odd sight of a far off sail on the horizon or dragon flying in the sky: high, high in the clouds.
Aga did not know her age, or even what age was: she knew she was bigger than some of her siblings and smaller than others and smaller yet than the men and women who had to work and toil to feed them all. Sometimes the Mother one, the one to whom she sometimes clung, gave her tasks: but she was small and clumsy and not much use at all. She could not cast a net, or plant root vegetable seeds, or carry a big pot of fresh water from the pool, or even make a pot using clay and water and fire.
She could pick flowers.
That is what she was doing when the dragon landed on her.
To be fair, Gruduux did not do it on purpose: he was deep in thought, or what passed for thought in a Ddraig whose heart was bigger than his brain. Yet, asked the poet, "where is fancy bred, in the heart or in the head?" As he lay on the island, which had literally shook when he landed: he was more brooding than thinking, massaging the same negative emotions over and over again: How he despised the apes. Those nasty little hairy apelings that clambered and crawled all over his kind like lice. How he laughed at the Drakeri with their hubris, and their pretensions to be better than the other apelings: the humans they were called: the humans were just slightly deaf Drakeri in his book. Drakeri who could not hear the song.
Ah that song: so sweet a torture. How strong it was in She. She who must be obeyed, She whom he disobeyed; She he hated, She he loved, and She of whom he had grown inordinately jealous. Apeling! Hairy trash. Drakeri slut opening herself to a human; why, she had disgraced herself even by her own standards. Apeling. When he started repeating insults, he knew that he was going around in circles again.
Horrific the thought: but were he too an ape, a Drakeri, or were they both Ddraig, He and She, they could at least settle things biologically: by coupling, or killing each other, either would be preferable to this torture. There was something wrong with him, or Her: other dragons and their bonded riders didn't have these problems, did they? Or maybe they did: maybe it was such a big taboo that nobody ever talked about it, or even dared think about it. Well, he had to think about it: so he had flown, flown so far away, to this island in the middle of nowhere.
His mind, his heart, his soul: they circled and circled and circled and never reached escape velocity to escape from it, the dense high gravity dark hole that was his jealousy over Wynn and Aldebrand. He wanted to lie there and, like his grandmother Akulatraxa, brood and brood and brood until centuries passed and he became so covered in dust that he became a mountain and had a city built on top of himself. Then he would burst out, killing everybody in the city and that would teach Her a lesson. All those people dead, and all Her fault.
But She would be long dead by then, wouldn't she? Short-lived apeling. She would never appreciate how she had wronged him.
Hmmm. Gruudax was enjoying wallowing in this jacuzzi of self-pity when he involuntarily sniffed the air. Ugh. She was coming. Rhagarth.