Fire And Ice (Book 1) (12 page)

             
“Actually, I was looking for you.”  Katelyn came forward to stand next to him at the wide, marble railing.  “I am glad to see that you are becoming friends with the Prince.  You wouldn’t care to tell me why the sudden change?”

             
“Let me just say I found his overbearance offensive and told him to stop it.”

             
“That is not what I meant.”

             
“I know,” he said and remained quiet until it was obvious she was not going to speak.  “Why did you let me go on thinking he was treating Margery poorly when he had no such intention?”

             
She was taken aback by his words and it took her a moment to respond.  “I did not know you would think of it that way,” she said contritely.  “I am sorry.”

             
“Forget it,” he told her.  He suddenly felt bad for doubting her.  She hadn’t even considered what he might think of it.  Of course that did not explain why she knew he would be angry with Rob and didn’t say anything.  He was more confused than before. 

             
That was enough thinking for one night.  Since he didn't want to think about it anymore, and since she was maintaining a thoughtful silence, one that just seemed to point out that awkwardness again, he made a suggestion.  “Why don’t we go back in?” he said and followed her back inside.   He may be at a loss concerning Katelyn’s behavior, but he had a better understanding of why he was sent here.

 
              The fourth day, and the last day before the tournament, followed the same pattern as the previous days.  The only real difference was the new arrivals.  Torvilin had entered the city about midday and took rooms in one of the city’s finer inns.  The other arrival was a weary looking Devon.  His horse looked worn out as well.  Apparently, he had not wanted to miss the tournament so had ridden hard to get here in time.  His father probably insisted.  Devon’s father did not want his son hampered by his own weakness, so routinely encouraged his son’s trips.  That just made Devon more concerned for his father’s wishes and guilty when he was absent from home, even though it was his father’s wish.

             
Coran didn’t inform Devon of what he had figured out concerning Torvilin.  He was sure that his friend would take action himself and that could ruin his own plans.  It was still nice to have him there with him. 

              Naras scanned the ragged crowd in the dim light of the tavern’s interior.  He sat at a wobbly table that held two cups on its pitted, stained surface.  Satisfied that no one was close enough to hear he leaned towards his partner.  “Is everything set?”

             
“Just like you said,” the big man, Urik, replied, “but I do not understand.   I thought we were supposed to hit him with the arrow, not kill him?”

             
Naras sighed at the man’s simplicity. ”That is what we are going to do.”

             
“But you wanted me to hire men to kill him?”  Urik’s face scrunched up as he tried to reason it out.

             
“Yes, the Voltian does not want him to reach Summerhall alive.”

             
Urik looked even more confused.  “Listen,” Naras said with more patience than he felt.  “We were hired to hit him with the arrow.  We are going to.  We were hired to have him killed.  We have taken care of that as well.  When I am paid for a job I do it.  If the two things work against each other that isn’t my problem, now is it?”

             
Urik scratched his beard.  “The boss won’t like it.”

             
“That‘s why we hired someone else to take care of the killing.  No one has to know it was us.”

             
A slow smile appeared on Urik’s face.  Then he laughed loudly.  A man in a moth eaten coat looked over at the sound of laughter and looked away quickly after seeing Naras’ stern face.

Chapter 8

The Mountain and the Hawk

              Katelyn awoke in the spacious bedroom she was using during her stay in Westhaven.  The window curtains were open and sunlight flooded the room.  She threw back the covers and hopped out of bed.  Today was the day of the tournament.  She had always looked forward to tournaments with a great deal of anticipation.  The armored men with their coats of arms, the horses as they surged across the field, and the impact that occurred when two combatants met, would all come together today with the cheering of the crowd to create a grand display for the pleasure of all.  The exceptions were the Knights who would be carried from the field on litters.  There were always casualties. But that would not dampen her spirits today. 

             
Hoping that she was not late, she picked out a dark yellow dress with white flowers down the sleeves and across the front, then dressed quickly.  That done she picked up a wood-handled brush and ran it through her long, dark hair while standing before a tall, silver-framed mirror. 

             
She thought about what she had figured out the night before while lying in bed.  She berated herself again for not realizing it sooner.  She was so happy to find out that Coran was coming along that she neglected to ask herself why.  It took learning of Torvilin’s arrival here in Westhaven for the pieces to click in place in her mind.  It was like one of those puzzles that people gave to children, where irregular shaped pieces had to be put together to form a box.  But they would only go together in a certain way.  She was going to have a few words to say to her father about using people.  Or, at least, about using certain people.  What he was doing made sense of course.  Coran was one of the few who might be able to match the Prince’s skill.  Then there was the question of who else would dare?  She hoped that nothing happened to him.  If he got hurt she did not know what she would do.  Maybe nothing would happen while they were here.  She was sure that her father would not have told Coran why he was there.  Coran probably did not know, but then again he always could surprise people by what he knew. 

             
Thinking of him again, she shook her head at her own folly. 
How could I have stooped so low as to try to make him jealous?
  She had seen other young ladies while she was growing up use that trick and some worse ones to try and trap a particular young man, and had promised herself that she would never do something as despicable as that.  But when Rob had told her he had already decided on Margery she conveniently forgot to mention it to Coran, especially after seeing his face when she talked to the Prince.  To find out that he wasn’t even jealous just made her feel that much more the fool.  “What am I going to do about him?”

             
“About whom?” someone said from behind her.

             
Katelyn spun around to see Alys entering her room from the sitting room beyond.  The young woman wore a similar dress of dark green with pale yellow along the sleeves and front. 

             
“Nothing,” she told her quickly.

             
Alys just stood there looking at her as if uncertain if she should speak about something.  She opened her mouth once and closed it again before finally talking.  “You mean Lord Coran?”

             
Katelyn sighed.  She couldn’t keep anything from Alys.  In the short time they had been together the two of them were becoming close.  Alys also seemed to have this ability to know what she was thinking.  “I do not know what to do about him.  He hardly notices me.  All he sees when he looks at me is a duty he has to perform.”

             
Alys smiled knowingly.  “He notices you.  Believe me.  He notices you every time you step into a room, and he sees much more than duty when he looks at you.”  She stepped around the bed, took the brush from Katelyn’s hand and continued brushing her hair.  “You know him better than anyone.  You told me that you grew up with him.”

             
“I suppose so, but it hasn’t done me much good so far.”  She was afraid she had made matters worse.  At first she thought he might be angry at her for not saying anything about Rob, but yesterday he hadn’t acted angry.  Only there was this feeling of awkwardness between them and she didn’t know if it was just from her or from him too, and she didn’t know what it meant.

             
Alys was silent for a moment as she thought.  “If someone else wanted to know how to best approach him what advice would you give them?”

             
Katelyn never thought of it that way before.  All of a sudden she realized what to do, and what she had done wrong.  “I would say to tell him straight out how you felt and not to play any games.  The exact opposite of what I did,” she groaned.

             
“You are referring to your attempt to make him jealous?” Alys asked her, finished with the brush, and put it on a nearby dresser adjacent to the bed.  “I would not worry about that.  But now you know what not to do?”

             
“Was it that obvious?”

             
“No.  I just had a feeling that is what was going on.”

             
Katelyn sighed.  “So what do I do now?”

             
“Take your own advice.  You know what not to do now?”

             
“Yes,” she replied.  She just wished she knew
what
to do.  That was when she remembered they had to be somewhere and turned to Alys.  “Are we late?” she asked.

             
“No.  The Queen said for us to join her in half an hour. Then we will all go to the tournament together.  That was about twenty minutes ago, so we have a little time left.”

             
Katelyn relaxed a bit, glad she had not kept anyone waiting.  She needed to relax while she could.  This was going to be an exciting day, and a nervous one with Torvilin here.  Suddenly she had an idea how to start being a little more direct with Coran.

               Coran stood in the middle of the striped tent which was pitched in the middle of a number of similar tents on the south side of the tournament field.  The field was located in the northwest quarter of the city.  Unlike other cities where tournaments were held outside the walls in order to have enough room, here the field had been incorporated into the city’s original design.

             
A man in livery helped him strap on the heavy armor that the King had made for him.  It took a while to get used to the bulk so he had arrived early to give it time to settle about his shoulders.  The man wrapped the heavy sword belt about his waist and buckled it, then placed Coran’s sword into the sheath.  Though swords were not part of the joust as they once were it was expected.  Steel gauntlets were slipped over his hands and the man then handed Coran his shield.  The armor and shield were polished black and a great silver hawk was embossed on the front of the shield.  His helper finished lacing up the sides of his sur coat that also bore the hawk.                Clanging footsteps announced Devon who wore shining silver armor and shield bearing a tree with spreading branches.  Another tree also decorated his white sur coat.

             
“I feel like a walking ironworks,” Devon announced glumly.  The blonde, young man had arrived the night before from Anders, just in time to compete in the tournament.  That had to be his intention since he brought the armor with him.  Devon’s father probably insisted on that as well. 

             
“You sound like one,” Coran smiled at his friend.

             
“Go ahead and laugh,” Devon said and he was not smiling.  “You are not the one who is going to embarrass himself out there.”

             
“Why do you say that?  I am not very good at this either.”

             
“Better than me!  Remember the tournament at Tyelin last summer?”  Coran did remember.  Devon was unhorsed on his first pass.  The man who did it was a year younger and competing in his first tournament.  Unfortunately for the youth, he bragged about it a little too much afterwards.  It was his own fault since he did it within range of Devon’s hearing. The young Knight ended up with a broken nose. 

             
“That was just bad luck,” Coran told his friend.  A bad strap had broken at the worst possible time, shifting Devon in the saddle and making him an easy target.  “I know you are better than that.”  He ducked his head through the tent flaps.

             
Devon grunted something noncommittal before following Coran from the tent.  They stepped out to a scene of confusion.  Armored men stood in groups talking as young men led large horses to their respective competitor.  Coran weaved his way between the colorful tents toward the field that was revealed before them.  On two sides, many tiered rows of benches were filled to overflowing with colorfully dressed spectators.  A wall about four feet in height separated the lowest tier from the ground.  Unlike other stadiums that were made of wood these people sat on solid stone, except those who had not brought their own cushions.  This stadium was also half again as high as the one at Summerhall.  The people looked out over a dirt field.  Down the center ran a wooden list about shoulder high on a horse.  The list prevented rival horses from running into each other during the charge. 

             
He watched as two mounted men in full armor faced each other across the field.  Another man stood near one wall in a formal green coat with one arm raised high.  A hush came over most of the watchers.  The arm came down and both of the mounted warriors charged forward.  There was a tremendous crash as they met in the middle of the field and one of the riders flew from his saddle to land with a second crash on the ground.  The crowd cheered wildly either for the winner or in appreciation of the carnage.  Most likely it was both.  As the victor turned his mount, Coran saw a white stag outlined in gold on the shield and realized the man was Torvilin.  The Prince of Voltia raised his broken lance in acknowledgment of the ovation as he rode from the field.

             
Prince Robert came up to stand next to them as they watched.  “Good luck,” he said.

             
“You too,” Coran replied sincerely.

             
A young man approached them leading a black charger.  “Sir Coran?” 

             
“I am Coran.”

             
“It is almost time,” the youth reported and indicated the mount.

             
Coran went and gripped the pommel of the saddle but a shout stopped him.

             
“Coran!” a running Katelyn called to him.  Seeing that he was indeed waiting for her, she slowed and walked with a bit more dignity.  Coming closer, she produced a blue silk scarf in one hand.   It was the same scarf he had given her.  “I wanted to wish you luck, and ask if you would wear this.”

             
He noticed her dress and the way her hair was in disarray from her run.  She really was beautiful he decided.  “You have been reading too many stories,” he told her.  It was not uncommon for a competitor to wear the colors of a Lady, but from listening to women talk he knew that all the stories written around jousts mentioned it. 

             
She blushed and he thought he had hit the mark.  She would never admit to reading books about sobby romance and heroes and women in distress.  “Please?  For me?” she begged him while her lower lip protruded out in a mock pout.

             
He laughed out of enjoyment and held out an arm so she could tie the scarf around the armor.  “Whatever you wish, my Lady.”              

“I want to get back so I do not miss anything,” she said quickly when she was done.  Then she stood there, hesitant, before standing up on her toes and kissing him quickly on the cheek.  Then she darted back into the crowd without looking back. 

              Coran could only stand there, stunned.  Shaking himself he realized the other two were watching him.  Rob looked entirely too innocent and Devon was trying hard not to laugh.  He gave both of them a stern look before turning his back on them and mounting.

             
The youth led his horse by the reins through an open gate and out onto the field.  Then he handed the reins to Coran and another man held out a lance for him to take.  The lance was about twelve feet in length and the tip was wrapped in many layers of wool until it resembled a round ball.  Before taking it he lowered the visor of his helmet. 

             
The noises from the crowd were much louder here on the field.  He scanned the crowd until he found what he was looking for.  It took a few moments because of the limited visibility through the slits of his helmet.  There was one area of the stands boxed off from the rest and with a tent-like covering to protect the occupants from the sun or rain.  It was located in the middle and in the very front of the stands to his left.  The King, Queen, and Princess of Westland were seated there along with a few of the more important nobles, and of course Katelyn and Alys were there.  She must have run again to return to her seat so quickly.  She caught him looking and raised a hand to wave.  If it wasn’t for the shield and lance filling his hands he would have waved back.