Knights Magi (Book 4) (49 page)

Rondal swallowed, dipped his own finger into the wine, and touched his mouth. 

“From Ishi’s lips springs the font of love,” he mumbled.  Lady Thena looked utterly pleased with herself.  She leaned forward and planted a soft, sweet kiss of surpassing elegance on Rondal’s startled lips. 

Kiss her back, you idiot,
Tyndal growled into his mind. 
This is a sacred rite.

Rondal didn’t reply, but he found it within himself to respond with some cautious enthusiasm.  Lady Thena broke the kiss and relaxed, looking quite pleased with herself. 

The rite was supposed to ensure a maiden’s future happiness, under the pretense that the holy lips of Ishi fell best on lips oft-kissed.  The rite could be as chaste as a peck or . . . not, depending on the maiden, the lad, and the circumstances.  But to decline even a peck was considered a bit of an insult, once she had begun the rite.

It was a coquette’s game, but one that frequently led to even deeper rites of the goddess of Love.  Even respectable girls from conservative families performed
the rite.  It did not necessarily indicate that a lass was interested in a lad . . . but that was certainly the case in this instance.

“Thank you, my lord,” Thena said, sweetly, sipping her wine.  “May I inquire as to your position and station?  Surely a knight so young has yet to bare his blade,” she added, suggestively.

It’s a challenge,
Tyndal counseled, amused, as Lady Kresdine returned to settle beside him. 
Do not fail it.  Charge ahead with valor. 
Despite the encouragement, Rondal stammered and stumbled to the point where Tyndal was forced to rescue him.

“Actually, milady, Sir Rondal was born a commoner, as was I.  Simple mountain lads from the vales of the Mindens, apprenticed to a common trade.  But then the goblin invasion occurred,” he said, gravely, “and our homeland was overrun.”

“Duin protect us!” Lady Kresdine said, her eyes wide in genuine fear.  “We have heard of the invasion, but . . .”

“We were there at the beginning,” affirmed Rondal. 

Finally.
Rondal had, at least, learned enough of warfare to be able to discourse on it with some authority and confidence.  He almost didn’t sound like an idiot.   “At Boval Vale, which now lies at the heard of the Dead God’s dark empire.  We were besieged, and both of us were required to take up arms in defense.  We were rescued from certain death only by the intervention of Minalan the Spellmonger,” he said, keeping their relationship with the man a secret for the moment. 

So the boy wasn’t a
complete
idiot.

“That sounds . . . awful!” Lady Thena said, enrapt.

“It was worse than you can possibly imagine,” Tyndal agreed.  “Only what came after was worse.  Once rescued, we followed Master Minalan into battle, as did many Bovali.  For our service on the field at the Battle of Timberwatch, we were knighted by the hands of two dukes – the night before Duke Lenguin died from his wounds.”  It never hurt to drop a few names, and naming a recently-deceased Duke could not help but elevate their status.

“Surely many fought in that battle,” Lady Kresdine observed.  “Yet not all came away ennobled and knighted.”

“There were dark deeds done that day,” Rondal said, with sincere gravity.  “I pray you ladies not ask us our parts, for they were fell.  So many did not return from that fiery field that I would not sully their memory with a casual account.”

Oh, well played!
Tyndal encouraged. 
You completely avoided the fact that you were stuck safely in a tower for the entire battle while I repeatedly risked my ass!

I’ve been practicing for that one,
admitted Rondal. 
It’s kind of embarrassing to note that you got your knighthood for accurate field observations.

You’ve more than made up for it since,
reminded Tyndal.  “That was even more treacherous a day than the Battle of Cambrian Castle, the day that Sire Cei and Lady Lenodara the Hawkmaiden slew the dragon,” added Tyndal, out loud.  Nothing could top that boast, lest it was he who had wielded the lance.  “In truth we are still recovering from that battle.  Sire Cei, whom we serve, has mandated a period of rest and repose before we return to battle.”

“I do hope you have found sufficient comfort and support, Sir Tyndal,” Lady Kresdine said, licking her lips.  Her eyes held new respect for her guests.  And they didn’t even know that they were magi, he reminded himself.  Just a couple of knights errant out erring.

“Well, save to further our studies,” reminded Rondal.  “We took part in the War College at Relan Cor this spring.  And we have of late been practicing tilting and other noble arts at Chepstan Castle.  That was hardly . . . restful.”

“Such busy, strong young knights,” Kresdine smiled.  “We are so favored to have you here to entertain us today—
what is it?
” she demanded, as her obsequious steward reappeared. 

Lady Thena, who had arrayed herself quite comfortably against Sir Rondal, made no move to add distance between them in front of the servants, which told Tyndal much.  He knew who ruled at Ramoth’s Wood, and it wasn’t the knight with the fondness for rabbits.

“Begging your pardon, milady,” said the man, “but I searched the accounts until I found the record.  We do, indeed, owe a sum to Cargwenyn for the purchase of honey.  It is . . . a substantial sum,” he said.

“So substantial we cannot settle it at present?” she asked, warningly.

“If my lady will inspect the listing,” he said, with a trace of warning in his voice, “she may make her own determination.”

Lady Kresdine looked momentarily taken aback, but she recovered quickly.  “So I shall, and we will get to the bottom of this.  I will ask my gentlemen to bide a moment while I do, and then perhaps they will entertain us further at a picnic out in the meadow?”  She looked at her daughter pointedly.  “Why don’t you go change into something suitable, my dear,” she instructed.  “We will return anon with our luncheon.”

When the ladies had left, Rondal bolted up out of his seat.  “What are we doing here?”

“Being seduced,” reminded Tyndal, casually.  “I told you that.  Is there something wrong with Lady Thena?”

“She’s pretty,” agreed Rondal, sullenly.  “But she’s young!”

“Old enough to ask for Ishi’s Kiss.  And perhaps more.  She’ll be wed within a year, if her mother can find a right match.  Until then, she wants to practice.”

“Her mother is
right there!
” Rondal whispered harshly, ignoring the mind-to-mind link that would keep them from being overheard. 

“Her mother is all but holding her skirt,” Tyndal pointed out.  “Look, she’s a coquette.  She’s being groomed for such a life, as much as we are in our chosen profession.  No one is asking for your hand in marriage, Ron, she just wants to enjoy an afternoon with a lusty young knight.   If it bothers you so, stop short of assaulting her virtue, if you must.”

“And are you like to do the same with her mother?” Rondal asked, accusingly.

“I’m uncertain as to just how much virtue Lady Kresdine has left,” joked Tyndal.  “But do try to hold yourself in check from saying anything
too
stupid.  In fact, if you have any doubts, use the Long Ears to overhear what they’re saying.  I’m sure we will find it instructive.”

“That would be . . . impolite!” Rondal said, when he couldn’t think of a more damning condemnation.

“Intelligence gathering often is,” reminded Tyndal.  “But in a way we are on a mission, and if you doubt my summary of the situation, I invite you to listen to what the ladies say between themselves.  You need not act on any information you so discover,” he promised.

“All right,” Rondal said, after a few moments of struggle.  He sat down next to Tyndal and they both cast the spell.  Finding Kresdine and her daughter within the manor by voice was not difficult – indeed, the lady of the manor was being quite loud as she argued with her cowering servant.

“What do you mean, we owe them nine ounces of silver?”
she was demanding. 

“Nine ounces and one half ounce, and three silver pennies, when interest on the debt is calculated,” t
he man corrected.
“My lady, the honeys of Cargwenyn are of surpassing quality, and are blessed by Noapis.  My lord prefers a godly honey with which to sweeten his porridge—”

“If you had any idea what your lord
actually
preferred,”
Kresdine reproved angrily,
“you would look upon me with pity and revulsion.  What is the state of the treasury?”

“My lord has four ounces of silver and thirteen half-ounces, as well as some copper coin.  We should be receiving nearly double that, this market, but we just paid—“

“Shut it!”
Kresdine said, angrily. 
“I have two hot-blooded young knights down there who are demanding payment – and my idiot husband left me nothing!  Typical!  Thena, how much coin do you have?”

“Mother, I—”
she protested.

“Don’t you start with me, little lady!”
Kresdine exploded.
“I spent a ransom on your introduction party, and I know you received at least some token from those no-account uncles of yours!  How much?”
she demanded.

“I have but three ounces of silver left,”
the young woman admitted. 

“What did you do with the rest of it?”
her mother shrieked.

“A girl has expenses, Mother,”
the younger noblewoman shot back.
“Did you not teach me that?”

“Oh, shut it!  We have to do something to mollify them – your father is already near to being the laughingstock of the Bontal Vales, the last thing we need is for it to be said he does not pay his debts!  Damn him and his lackluster poetry!  And these are no mere country knights, Thena, these are men of position.  They serve Sire Cei the Dragonslayer, who himself is the castellan to the Spellmonger.”

“Mother, are not spellmongers mere bourgeouise?”
asked Thena, disdainfully. 
“Why do we care—”

“You little idiot!”
snarled Kresdine. 
“This has naught to do with class, this is about power!  The Spellmonger is the talk of the entire Bontal, along with his Dragonslayer and his Hawkmaiden.  Now he has knights wandering around collecting his debts . . . this is a disaster!  If we fall from favor now, when we are searching for a good match for you, all of our work will be undone.”

“Mother, I hardly think a little honey—”
Lady Thena began.

“You hardly think, let’s leave it at that.  It’s not about the damn honey.  It’s about our reputation.  It’s bad enough we have those stupid rabbits all over everything, if we send these men away empty-handed, we will be the talk of the Bontal.  We must mollify them.  A token now, and a pledge of the balance . . . yes, I think we can manage this situation.  Thena, go change into the blue riding gown, boots, and . . . don’t bother with the undergown.  It’s a hot day.”

“Mother! Without the undergown, they’ll see—”

“Ah, my sweet, this is you hardly thinking again,”
she said with sarcastic sympathy. 
“I know full well what they’ll see.  Why do you think I gave you the instruction?  Now off with you, and do not scrimp on the cosmetics.  You are about to see what a lady does when her idiot husband leaves her no choice in the matter!  And you!  Have the team hitched to the carriage. We will be taking our lunch in the meadow by the river.  Ensure no one disturbs us,”
she said with particular force,
“or I shall see you cleaning out pigsties until you’re in your dotage!”

“That,” Tyndal said, as they let the spell drop, “is what is
actually
going through milady’s mind.  Not issues of propriety and chivalry.  She’s just like any wife with a debt collector.”

“But we weren’t sent here to demand payment,” reminded Rondal, “we were sent to merely inquire about it!”

“And so we have,” Tyndal pointed out.  “But milady Kresdine is apparently unaware of the distinction.”

“I don’t know,” Rondal said, uneasily, “it seems unchivalrous to take advantage of them like this . . .”

“Are we not faithfully serving our master?  Are we not advocating on his behalf?  Are we not undertaking a mission?”

“This is errantry,” corrected Rondal, “not a real military mission.”

“All the better,” Tyndal insisted.  “Without errantry, chivalry is mere military service and social obligation.  We aren’t doing anything wrong.  We haven’t even done anything . . .
yet.
Just bide a moment, then they’ll return, we’ll have a pleasant afternoon in their company, and be on our way.”

Rondal was thoughtfully silent as he contemplated Tyndal’s words, so Tyndal took the opportunity to contact Lady Pentandra, mind-to-mind. 

What is it?
Pentandra asked, brusquely.

My pardons, my lady, is this a bad time?

No, I’m just on my way from one meeting to another.  What is it, Tyndal?  Trouble?

Of a sort.  Rondal and I are on an errand for Sire Cei in the Bontals.  We’re inquiring about an account to a local manor on his behalf, where the lord is out and the lady of the manor and her daughter wish to entertain us.