Milady’s Wiles             by: Brandy Dewinter, with the invaluable assistance of P.J. Wright

 

Chapter 21 - Man Bites Snake

The day of which Queen Giselle had spoken was well nigh indeed. It seemed I had barely removed my dress from the night of their arrival when I was once again dressing for the assembly called by Kragdle. I’m not sure exactly why it seemed appropriate, but I felt compelled to wear once again the rich, blue gown that had defined my first appearance as Cherysse.

Mother smiled in approval as we made our way to the throne room. The summons from Kragdle was for mid-morning, but it suited her purposes for us to be there first and remind him that at least in name we were the hostesses and he was a guest. Queen Selay took her high seat and I took my normal position at her side.

We were somewhat surprised to see the women of Kragdle’s entourage already in place. He had paid them no attention at all on his arrival, neither seeing to their well-being nor giving instructions for them. Yet Queen Giselle and several unfamiliar women were arrayed along one side of the throne room, attended by servants but no armed men.

The next to arrive were Lyonidas and Elgion. I could see the ten-sion in Lyonidas’ face and the set of his shoulders. Elgion was trying to lighten the mood with some typical witticism, but for once he was not succeeding very well. His comments were interrupted in mid-jest by a squeal from among the High Canyon women.

"Elgion! My love, why didn’t you write?"

The speaker, or screamer, was a dusky, slender woman with curly ringlets cascading around her face. I had thought Queen Giselle’s hair was black, but the sheen in the curls of this woman made the Queen’s hair seem dull. Perhaps, though, that impression was enhanced by the shining earrings flashing among the dark curls.

When she moved out of the crowd toward Elgion it was clear that she was a dancer or other artist for surely the human body, even a woman’s body, could not flow so sinuously without long training. And it was easy to see her body. The clothes she wore were obviously intended to highlight, not conceal her form. In most places the material was so sheer that it made no pretense of modesty, and the few places where vision could not penetrate were called into even sharper focus by that very obscurity.

My attention had been so captured by the voice and motion of this dusky woman that I had missed the tension that had appeared in Julia.

"Love?" she asked, almost to herself but loud enough to carry at least to Elgion.

He stepped forward to intercept the foreign woman saying, "Dierdre, I didn’t know you’d be with the Queen’s party."

She flashed brilliant teeth in a wide smile and said, "I thought I’d surprise you, dear one. You know I like surprises."

"Dear one?" now Julia’s voice rose into a volume that carried more clearly.

The smiling girl caught her words and the sharpness of her tone. Her eyes widened, then tightened as she noticed that Julia wore earrings of her own. Dierdre snuggled her arm under Elgion’s and asked, "Who is this henna-haired parrot?"

"Henna-haired?!!" Residents of the castle started looking for cover from the storm behind Julia’s words.

"And a parrot," the woman snickered.

Before Julia could respond, Elgion tried to turn the conversation toward formality by introductions. He turned to Mother and said, "Queen Selay, allow me to present Dierdre, who has come to King Kragdle’s court from far off Katmanistan."

Then he turned to me, still taking refuge in formality, "Your Highness, Dierdre of Katmanistan."

The storm brewing in Julia’s eyes was not diminishing with the delay. If it had been me, I would have been looking for the nearest exit but Elgion moved on with apparent nonchalance, "And this is the Lady Julia. Julia, Dierdre."

The dark-haired Dierdre swayed up the steps to the dais with a grace as fluid as any Lyonidas ever demonstrated, yet without that economy of motion. Instead of a deceptively-smooth flow, the various parts of Dierdre’s body all moved at once, and all in mutually harmonious ways that seemed unencumbered by skeletal limitations. She managed to turn her back to Julia even as she dipped into a deep, graceful curtsy to the Queen.

Only then she turned insolently to Julia and me, no offer of honor in her haughty grin.

Julia met her gaze with equal strength, but her words were to Elgion, "Milord Count, would you care to explain this?"

"Explain what?" he replied. Give him credit for courage, I wouldn’t have pretended innocence with Julia when she was in that mood.

Julia didn’t answer his question, though the arch of her brow fore-told many responses yet to come. She spoke to Dierdre instead, "I see you wear earrings of promise."

"Yes," Dierdre replied. "I received them from Elgion."

"As did I," Julia said quietly, the calm before the lightning struck.

Then Julia looked again at Elgion, "Milord Count, I had your promise that no other woman would wear your rings."

"Well, actually," he stammered, "I only said no other Achaiean maiden would . . ."

Dierdre now interrupted him, a bit of anger building in her tone as well, "So, if I am not around, you lay claim to any woman who happens to be convenient?"

The storm started to break as Julia’s voice rose, "I am hardly a convenience!"

"Stiff as you are," Dierdre sneered, "I can understand why a man would not find you convenient."

Julia’s response was back to Elgion, "Tell me, Milord Count, does this harlot spread for your horse?"

Dierdre’s voice prevented Elgion from replying as it rose even fur-ther, "I am a Princess in the House of the Great Khan, not a harlot!"

"We are not in the house of the Great Khan, harlot!" Julia shouted.

Elgion tried to intercede, "Ladies, please!"

They both slapped him in such perfect unison that there would only have been one sound, if the sound could have been heard. However, it was drowned out by the thunderclap of the main doors to the throne room hitting their stops as Kragdle made his entrance. His face showed nothing as he moved forward but the strange emotions flowing through the room were not quite what he might have expected from his arrogant arrival, so obviously intended to remind us of his first visit to the throne room. It was clear to him that there had been some sort of ten-sion in the room rather than meek acceptance of his demand to attend.

A dozen warriors flowed behind him in the amorphous style of the

High Canyon horde, so familiar in memory yet still incongruous in our

hall. He marched directly to the King’s throne and sat casually upon it

with barely a glance toward Queen Selay. When he spoke, his first words

were to Lyonidas

"It is good to see that peace and harmony have resulted from your tenure as regent," that whispering dry voice sneered.

Lyonidas was embarrassed and was readying himself to explain, when Kragdle forestalled him by continuing, "In truth, peace seems sadly lacking, considering the price that was paid and the promises that were made."

His eyes had moved from Lyonidas to Queen Selay as he spoke and it was clear his comment was really to her. When he spoke again, he spoke directly to the Queen.

"Madame," and his omission of her title was clearly meant as an insult, "do you remember the terms of treaty that spared you?"

She ignored his question, her silence as strong as on the first time they had met. Kragdle had not intended for her to answer anyway, as he rolled on in his flat, toneless voice, "It says that you will not take up arms against High Canyon, nor any of our people in Achaiea. Do you remember that?"

It might be imagined that she nodded stiffly, but imagination would have to be a part of the impression for the movement was too small for certainty.

Kragdle waited long enough for some tension to build, then said, "Yet Olrin lies dead. Strane lies dead. How do you justify this?"

"I do not need to justify it," she replied.

It was not apparent that she intended further comment, but it was not necessary since Lyonidas spoke up, "Father, I judged those cases myself."

Now Kragdle’s glittering black eyes shifted back to Lyonidas, "Indeed, as you judged other cases."

"Yes."

"As you judged the case of General Reynal."

"Yes," Lyonidas replied, head high and no apology in his bearing.

"Which led to the loss of another High Canyon nobleman," Kragdle accused.

"Reynal escaped his just sentence," Lyonidas declared. "His loss was his own fault."

"Not if he were innocent," Kragdle countered.

"He was not," affirmed Lyonidas.

Now that thin, humorless smile appeared on Kragdle’s face as he replied, "Perhaps not. Reynal was many things, but innocent was probably not one of them."

Then he raised his voice and waved his hand as he said, "Even now!"

From a side door, Reynal emerged, limping toward the dais. A hard, thumping sound could be heard with each step of his right leg. He walked, slowly but deliberately, directly to Lyonidas and said, "Sur-prised to see me?"

Lyonidas nodded calmly, "Yes, we thought you had perished in the winter storms."

Reynal snarled, his voice as twisted by hate as his curling lips, "It would have been better for you if I had. By the time I reached High Canyon, my foot was consumed with the Black Stench. I walk on wood now, thanks to you."

Lyonidas showed no remorse as his own voice hardened, "Thanks to your own foolishness. Your sentence was banishment to the very place toward which you ran. You are stupid as well as perverse."

Kragdle interrupted them with a harsh command, "Enough! I don’t care who was to blame for what. That is important to justice only. And while justice is sometimes convenient, I insist on order."

"Order?" Lyonidas asked with surprise. "With the exception of some transgressions by High Canyon noblemen, we have had order and peace."

"High Canyon noblemen define order and we can do without peace if necessary," Kragdle declared. "Again I say, I don’t care about your notions of justice. Two noblemen of High Canyon have died and another is crippled. I will have compensation for that loss."

The sneering threat in his voice seemed to draw all the air from the room. All breathing stopped for a long moment as we absorbed the sense of his comment. It was Lyonidas who asked the question that affected us all.

"What compensation?"

Now the grin on Kragdle’s face took on a truly evil cast. I rea-lized it was because for the first time, emotion showed in his eyes and not just on his mouth. His gaze swept the room, enjoying his power, en-joying our fear. When he spoke his tones almost showed emotion, noticea-ble more by contrast from before than from real content, but still apparent.

"Why, I think it would be appropriate for some Achaiean noble to match their sacrifice."

Hugh of Sandars stepped forward immediately. He had probably been expecting this demand, though I admit I had not. His motion stirred the remaining men of Achaiea to step forward as well. I might have thought it was an attack, their motion was so cohesive, but there was no aggres-sion in it, only submission. Kragdle drank in this submission like a heady drug. For him with his ambition it might have served that purpose, but his plans had been made long before he entered the throne room.

"Hardly suitable. A clerk and a few has-been dirt-grubbers? I think not. No, I think someone in the flower of youth, say . . . ," and here he paused, letting his gaze sweep once again through the room, before coming to rest on me. "The Princess would be fair compensation."

The air in the throne room again thinned as each person gasped. Or perhaps it was only my own breath that seemed inadequate. No one spoke for a long moment. Even after that moment, the break in the stillness was motion, not words. Lyonidas moved to stand directly between Kragdle and me.

Then he spoke, quietly but firmly, "No."

Kragdle barely spared him a glance, "My decision is made."

"As is mine," Lyonidas replied with equal resolve.

Kragdle now looked sharply at him. They stared at each other in a battle of wills that seemed one-sided, yet unproductive. Kragdle’s black chips tried to force Lyonidas to acquiesce, yet there was no counter-vailing pressure from Lyonidas. Instead, it was as though the energy from Kragdle’s gaze slid past Lyonidas, leaving him untouched without effect, but without resistance.

I don’t know how long that confrontation might have lasted for it was interrupted by a motion from Reynal.

At his gesture the High Canyon warriors accompanying Kragdle began to swirl toward the dais. Without specific command, the castle guards moved forward to meet them. I was gratified to see those guards who had originally come from High Canyon standing shoulder to shoulder with those born in Achaiea rather than joining their tan-garbed fellows. The sum of castle guards was more than enough to counter the tan swirl and it halted at the steps toward the thrones.

In later years I would come to understand what it meant to be a High Canyon sword-brother. If we had known at the time, we could have spared Julia the onerous duty (dear God I hoped she didn’t enjoy it!) of suffering the attentions of Elgion. For our efforts to sway him to our cause were wasted, his loyalty was never in question. It was dedicated to Lyonidas from long before he arrived in Achaiea. He too, took his place in the line backing Lyonidas and protecting me.

When the movement of armed men had come to a tense, momentary equilibrium, Lyonidas let a tight grin form on his face, "Father, it appears you should have brought more men."

"So," Kragdle growled, "you would hide behind your guards?"

Lyonidas sighed, sagging for just a moment before lifting his chin with firm resolve, "No, Father, I know the codes. Will you not recon-cile?"

His words had a formality that said we were witnessing a ritual far more significant than my own life or death. Well, perhaps not more sig-nificant for me, but certainly for High Canyon and therefore Achaiea.

Kragdle answered in a way that deviated from the formality though it answered the question clearly enough, "Get a weapon, Bastard."

Lyonidas started at this label and quickly looked at his mother. Her own countenance was stricken with a guilty flavor that confirmed Kragdle’s epithet. Then, for some reason Lyonidas looked at me. With time I might have fabricated a surprised expression of my own, but the horror of my threatened doom kept me from thinking beyond myself. When I realized that Lyonidas was looking at me, it was too late and he saw confirmed in my lack of surprise the knowledge that I had known already of his parentage, or at least Kragdle’s irrelevance to it.

"So, it seems that you have revealed an open secret," Lyonidas mused, as though it had no importance. Then his voice hardened, "Fath . . . Lord Kragdle, you should not have revealed that to me, though. Not at this time, not under these circumstances. That was a mistake you will not live long to regret."

Kragdle did not respond to this warning, merely walking down from the dais and removing his overcloak. Under it he wore the tan shirt and loose trousers I had once considered so inadequate as armor until Lyonidas had shown the greater protection available from speed and dexterity.

In his arrogance, Kragdle wore no weapon under his cloak and accep-ted Reynal’s when it was offered to him. Lyonidas had come to the throne room unarmed as well, but Elgion was quick to offer his own sword to his tall friend. Or actually, give it back as his words revealed.

"I trust this old sword will still be familiar to you."

"It is for this reason that we exchanged them, sword-brother," Lyonidas replied.

Then Lyonidas did something that surprised me, though its import was quickly clear. He took his sword and stabbed himself in his own left hand, not deeply, but enough to puncture the skin. Next he slid the invisible sharpness of the edge along his left forearm, again, not deeply, but enough to leave a trail of blood. His eyebrow lifted at his opponent in silent question when he finished. Kragdle snorted, then did the same to himself.

Perhaps the import was not that clear after all, as Julia whispered frantically in my ear, "Why did they do that?"

"To prove the blades were not poisoned, of course, now be quiet," I hissed back at her, quite rudely I’m afraid. She didn’t seem to notice, though.

Lyonidas saluted Kragdle with the formal little flourish he had used with Drayson, then flowed down the steps with that weightless glide I still didn’t quite understand. Once again he hardly seemed to move, yet he was quickly standing before Kragdle.

"You don’t need to do this," Lyonidas once again offered peace.

Kragdle’s response was to begin a shifting, swaying drift that seemed rather pointless until I realized I had been watching his off hand, looking at the still-dripping blood rather than his sword. His motions had drawn my eye away from the true threat with a strange compul-sion that resonated within me with a distant echo of the white-cold mind.

As a result of this distraction I didn’t even see his first strike. The tip of his sword licked out with a flicker that seemed more an illu-sion of light than something possible for real steel. Yet in the after-image that lingered behind my eyes, I realized he had thrust forward directly for the heart of my Lyonidas.

Yet, just as with that coiled-spring attack that Drayson had once used to such terrible effect, the targeted part of Lyonidas was not there when the strike arrived. His riposte was faster than thought but his only reward was a ringing clang as his blade caught the guard covering Kragdle’s hand.

"I see you have kept up on your practice," Kragdle commented, twirling his off-hand fingers in another attempt to distract Lyonidas.

My prince was silent, but a small smile began to appear on his lips. A hard smile to be sure, one without real humor, but still a smile that showed neither fear nor even worry. Kragdle noted it and for the second time I saw real emotion play across his tight features. Now though, the emotion was anger. He abandoned his swirling sway for a series of direct, brutal attacks, still lightning swift, still ineffective. Lyoni-das was somehow never in the same place as Kragdle’s blade, though I had no clue how he managed to avoid it.

Then my heart clutched so hard I thought I would die and make the fight moot. For I saw another small spot of blood begin to spread from Lyonidas’ side. At least one of Kragdle’s furious attacks had struck home.

You couldn’t tell it from his face, though, nor Kragdle’s for that matter. The fleshless face of our conqueror tightened again into impas-sivity, his anger assuaged with blood, at least for the moment. Once again his body and his free arm began a swirling sway reminiscent of the snake that he had always seemed to be.

Lyonidas was unmoved by this distraction. Literally unmoved for the most part, waiting with infinite patience for yet another attack. As Kragdle drifted from side to side, Lyonidas flowed to face him, never seeming to have his weight entirely on either foot, moving silently like the drifting fog his countryman so resembled in war.

Kragdle tried another taunt, "Do you defend that blonde witch be-cause she has cast a spell over your feeble mind?"

That taunt was entirely too close to the truth. There had been several times when I had seen seams in the tapestry of Lyonidas’ mind and could have insinuated compulsions that would still have effect. Yet I had never done so. I knew that Queen Selay had added a white-cold reinforcement to Lyonidas’ decision not to attend court sessions, but I had never tried to reach his mind myself.

However, the only response Kragdle received from Lyonidas was yet another small smile. If I had seen only that smile, I would have been much happier for it looked supremely confident. Yet I could still see the spreading blot of red on his shirt, now almost the size of my palm.

Kragdle struck like a snake once more but this time it was the snake that was bitten as a faster-than-vision riposte from Lyonidas drew a line along Kragdle’s sword arm to match the self-inflicted one on the other side. That seemed to be a trigger for Lyonidas to go on the offen-sive. He thrust again and again, always with that deceptive speed that seemed unhurried yet completed his stroke before I even knew he was moving. Not every attack reached its target, but small spots of red began to appear on the tan Kragdle wore as some portion of the flurry of motion was successful.

It appeared that Kragdle was better on the attack than the defense, for he never managed a riposte that was even close to successful. He soon realized this and the flow of the duel shifted once again to strikes by Kragdle and counters by Lyonidas. Yet, even this was of no avail for for the conqueror. Lyonidas now had the rhythm of the older man’s at-tacks and managed to draw new lines of red on Kragdle’s arm with nearly every engagement.

The older man began to show fear at the calm confidence he saw in his opponent. His swaying swirl began to describe larger circles as though trying to escape the arena that contained their fight. At times he would withdraw just too far for an immediate attack and glance around at the people in the chamber, though what he was looking for I could not say.

Until he caught Reynal’s eyes. I saw the direction of Kragdle’s gaze and then a quick flicker of those black eyes. Lyonidas was turned away from Reynal and my first concern was that Reynal would strike from behind, but though Reynal drew a blade, his motion was away from Lyonidas.

His motion was toward me. As though we were all trapped in some thick, clear fluid, time seemed to slow while Reynal turned toward me. His arm moved with speed I knew was blindingly fast, yet seemed languid. From the tips of his fingers a dagger flew directly toward my heart. A part of my mind was screaming at me to move out of the way of the so-leisurely attack, yet this strange sense of time’s flow seemed to hold my own body in its grip even more than Reynal’s arm. That instant’s impulse to move died before it was born. With my wide skirts and my waist stif-fened as always by the corset I wore, I knew I could never avoid the stroke. It seemed . . . inelegant somehow to run from this cowardly attack and before I had more than started to move I had converted my motion to a proud lifting of my bosom toward my attacker, offering him a clear shot at the target he so desperately desired. The flashing knife struck just below my falsely feminine bounty.

And bounced.

From the woven steel of my hidden tormentor, now my savior.

Reynal grabbed a sword from one of the High Canyon escorts and lunged at me, sword extending in a line pointed at my head. He might have succeeded before the last winter, but his wooden leg would not provide the power his attack required and two of my guardsmen, both of High Canyon in an ironic coincidence, intercepted his approach with their own blades. He managed to turn his thrust into a parry of one counter but the other lunged home to bring one more death in a battle that had not ended on the day that King Andros died.

Nonetheless, the distraction worked to Kragdle’s favor. Lyonidas could sense that Reynal was moving toward me and had withdrawn to the side to see what he could do without dropping his guard against Kragdle. Perhaps Kragdle had hoped the diversion would so unnerve Lyonidas that he might succeed where true skill had failed, but Lyonidas was too wary of the tan snake for that. However, the withdrawal my prince had made provided another opportunity for Kragdle.

He quickly turned and ran toward Queen Giselle. She had been stan-ding quietly by the side, watching the duel between her husband and her son as though she were unaffected. That disinterest was rudely inter-rupted when Kragdle grabbed her from her companions and used her as a shield between himself and Lyonidas, his sword poised to draw a new mouth below her chin.

"Drop your weapon, or your mother dies," Kragdle growled.

"Father," Lyonidas drawled, his tone dripping scorn at the once-proud claim, "I may not be your son in blood, but I am the one you trained from birth to rule in High Canyon. What was your own first rule, always, when one you love is held hostage?"

Kragdle didn’t answer but I saw in his eyes the knowledge that it had certainly not been to give in to the demands of the abductor.

Lyonidas drifted closer in that velvet fog manner of his and an-swered his own question, "You told me that the only acceptable answer is to kill the hostage yourself. ‘To save others from the same fate,’ you said. Do you remember?"

By now Lyonidas was close enough that he could thrust into Giselle’s heart at any time he chose. Here he paused, as though something new had occurred to him. "But I’m not really your son, am I? I don’t have to accept your ways as mine. So I don’t think I’ll kill my own mother. Instead, I think I’ll kill you!"

With that he lunged, but his stroke was well wide of the mark, clearly it had never been intended to strike home. Yet though Lyonidas had obviously missed, Kragdle staggered, then began to slump against the back of his unloved and unloving wife.

She stepped out of his suddenly-strengthless grasp to move behind Lyonidas. It was then I saw the blood on her hand, blood from an obvious source, the pulsing wound in Kragdle’s chest where Tamor’s dagger sprou-ted like a shiny weed.

The thin, fleshless face of our erstwhile conqueror looked up at his wife in surprise, then horror at the image of triumph to be found on her grim visage. He tried to turn around to find succor in another face, but all those around drew back from his as though afraid the evil that had inhabited him might escape to find another home.

It was not to be. He hunched forward around the dagger in his heart and collapsed to the floor, ending his brief empire bereft of power, prestige, or posterity.

 

(continued in Part 22)

 

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Milady's Wiles © 1998 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.