Knights Magi (Book 4) (76 page)

Where
Lady Arsella
was waiting.

The girl born as Belsi was seated in the right-hand chair, dressed in a richly-embroidered green velvet surcoat, her sleeves tied against the chill and her mantle pulled around her.  A silver noble’s circlet held down a demure white wimple.

“Gentlemen, may I present Lady Arsella of Maramor, last surviving scion of this distinguished house,” Rondal said smoothly.  “You may find this remarkable: she slipped away from her family’s retreat on the basis that her house should be represented at Maramor, regardless of the unfriendly new neighbors.  Unfortunately, they perished during the Dragonfall, leaving her behind unbeknownst to anyone.  When we arrived, she was all alone, ready to impale me with an arbalest, thinking I was a goblin!”

“You have to admit, the resemblance is uncanny,” Tyndal shot. 

“My lady,” Marshal Brendan said, with a respectable bow.  “Your courage does you credit . . . though perhaps not your wisdom.”

“She yet lives,” grunted Varigon, “while her kin are dead.  ‘Tis difficult to fault such fortune.”

“My lords,” she said, curtseying prettily.  “I fear the hospitality of my house suffers of late, but please feel welcome.”

“Your house no more, I’m afraid,” Marshal Brendan said, pouring himself a glass of wine and then one for Arse
lla.  “It has been rendered to the Crown for military use – not that you’ll find the estate that productive these days,” he said, laughing at his own pale joke.

“So I am to be sent away?” Arsella asked, her eyes flashing toward Rondal and Tyndal.

“Better,” Rondal said, pouring more wine from the bottle.  “I had Commander Terleman look into the matter as a personal favor to me, in recognition of all you have done for the war effort here at Maramor,” he said, smoothly.  “And it seems you are not entirely alone in this world after all.”

Arsella stopped her cup before it touched her lip.  “I am not?” she asked, alarmed.

“Nay, my lady,” Rondal said, smiling.  “I bear good news: you have an aunt: Lady Yesta.  The eldest half-sister of your father, from his sire’s first wife, long married to Lord Shand of Longmarsh, a Coastlord of some means.” Rondal sounded pleased with himself as he sipped the wine and watched the expression on Arsella’s face as he revealed the good tidings.

“An . . . aunt?”

“A half-aunt, if you want to be technical,” Tyndal pointed out.  “But a blood relative.  And one in line to inherit your sire’s holdings and estates . . . and you.”

“Me?”

“Of course, my dear!” Marshal Brandan said, warmly.  “Your wardship falls to your nearest living relative, upon your sire’s demise.  In this case, that would be your Aunt Yesta.  It will be her duty to take you in, protect you, finish your education and find you a suitable marriage.”

“A
what?”

“It’s her duty,” soothed Rondal.  “Well, technically it is the duty of your sire’s liege, but since he is probably dead—“

“Oh, no, he’s very dead,” Tyndal assured him.

“—since he’s very dead, Lady Yesta is now responsible for arranging a marriage worthy of your rank and station.”

“A marriage,” Arsella repeated, dully.

“Indeed.  Of course the reparation the Crown pays you for its use of Maramor, in addition to whatever assets the estate may hold in the south, plus the hoard your father left you, all together it should provide a handsome dowry.  And there are plenty of poor country knights willing to take a young girl off a busy household’s
hands for the right price.”

Arsella looked tormented by the idea.  But she also realized that making a scene in front of the military commander of the region would do her no favors.  She swallowed grimly and managed a meek smile.  “I do look forward to meeting my aunt,” she said, formally.  “Thank you, gentlemen, for discovering her.  I feel much safer knowing I have kin with whom I might take refuge.”

“Well spoken!” approved Marshal Brendan.  “My lady, why don’t you go ready your baggage – we depart at noon, tomorrow, to meet with a patrol headed south near Kiplan.  From there it is but a week to Barrowbell, and then downriver by barge to the Coastlands . . . you could be in your family’s bosom within a month, and wed by Yule, Ishi willing!”

“Ishi willing,” agreed Tyndal, as he watched Arsella struggle with the idea.  “May she favor you with a giant of a man for a husband who will give you many, many children!”

You are such an asshole,
Rondal said to Tyndal, mind-to-mind, as Arsella’s eyes bulged.

She broke your heart,
Tyndal pointed out. 
I don’t mind watching her squirm a little.

Clearly.

After finishing a single cup of wine, as propriety dictated, Lady Arsella excused herself.  The boys let a few off-color comments about her nubile status by their new comrades pass.  Rondal did not feel that defending the honor of a woman like Arsella would be a credit to his own. 

“So where are you being stationed, Commander?” asked the Marshal, moving from wine to spirits. 

“Yes, just where are we being stationed?  Commander?” asked Tyndal, happily accepting a cup.

“Master Minalan has had Commander Terleman pull us from the front for a mission,” Rondal reported.  “A secret mission.  I have no idea what, just that we’re supposed to meet up with Sir Festaran at Fillisby with a caravan, proceed south overland to some place in the lower Riverlands, and then return to Sevendor.”

“A secret mission,” repeated Tyndal.  “In the Riverlands?  With Sir Fes?”

“He’s a knight mage, of sorts,” explained Rondal to Brandon and Varigon.  “A sport, not a true mage.  But he has a few talents that are useful, and he is well-trained.  A good, solid fellow.  What he has to do with the task, I know not, but then the Spellmonger keeps secrets like barons keep mistresses.”

“Your master has quite a reputation in many matters,” agreed Marshal Brandon.  “I’ve yet to meet the man, yet by all accounts all hope for victory in this war lies upon his shoulders.  I’ve seen what you folk,” he said, indicating the three magi, “can do on the battlefield – you won’t hear of me charging a dragon – but is he up to the task?  Can he find a way to slay the Goblin King?”

Rondal looked at Tyndal, and while he hoped some soothing and reassuring words would flow from him, mind-to-mind, his fellow was just as challenged to answer the question as he.

“If he is not, my lord Marshal,” Rondal finally said, “then no other man is better suited.  And it will not be because he did not try everything in his power.  Our master is committed to the cause of Sharuel’s destruction.  And we are committed to aiding him, however we may,” he answered.

“Well spoken,” murmured
Varigon, taking a third sip of liquor.

“Indeed,” agreed Brandon.  “Then let us drink to the health of the Spellmonger, before we retire, and pray the gods that he has the stones to see this through.”

Tyndal went to bed shortly thereafter, citing exhaustion.  Rondal found he had trouble sleeping, and after seeing Varigon and Brandon to proper quarters, instead of finding his own bed he found himself walking through the manor’s courtyard, going in no particular direction.

“Sir Rondal,” came a quiet, insistent – and female – voice from the shadows.  “I had hoped to see you here before you slept.”

“Arsella,” he answered, invoking magesight to find her in the darkness.  “What do you want to speak with me about?”

“What do I want to speak with you about?  You spared my life and gave me station today . . . you don’t feel that merits a word or two?”

“Mayhap,” conceded Rondal, uncomfortably.  “I didn’t do it for you, really.  It was just . . . it was just the best thing for everyone.”

“You didn’t have to do it at all,” Arsella said, taking his arm. 

“I’m not certain I did you any favors,” he warned.  “I wasn’t joking about your aunt.  She has six daughters and four sons.  She’s not going to like a spare fosterling around.  She’s going to want to marry you off quickly.”

“That is my battle to fight,” she shrugged.  “I could have been dead by nightfall.  If the price of that is some fat, hairy old knight heaving his pasty body on top of mine every night for the next twenty years, then it is not too dear a price to pay.”

“So you say now,” chuckled Rondal.  “You have yet to meet the man.”

“Goddess willing, he’s handsome, rich, and kind,” she sighed.  “But if not . . . well, I know how to use an arbalest,” she reminded him.  “Accidents happen . . .”

Rondal suppressed a shudder at how casually she said it – he told himself she was joking, but he wasn’t quite convinced.  “So you really aren’t that upset about it?”

She shrugged.  “I lost Maramor, but it wasn’t ever really mine, save for a few weeks when no one else was around.  I gained a name and a title.  And wealth, even, after a fashion.  My . . . others in my family were not as lucky.”

“But you could have had freedom,” Rondal pointed out. 

“Freedom?  To what, starve?” she snorted.  “Do you have any idea what I would have to do to survive in the southlands?”

“Well, no,” Rondal admitted.

“Neither do I, but I can’t imagine it would be pleasant.  Just how many young girls of common blood from northern Gilmora are begging in the streets of Barrowbell?  Or worse?  How many are on the road, fleeing for their lives with only what they have on their backs?  You gave me a chance, Rondal.  Not a good one, but a chance.  As hard as the consequences might be to bear, you gave me a chance at a life.  Maybe even a good life.”

Rondal waved at the sentry beginning his patrol of the grounds as he walked by – his last night as commander here, he realized.  Arsella smiled.  “In a way, I’m glad things worked out this way.  I . . . I know you probably don’t think much of me, but I do admire you very much, Rondal.  You have my respect, even if I could not give you my heart.”

“Don’t—”

“I wanted to,” she interrupted.  “I did, I swear to Ishi, I did.  I wanted to be rescued by a handsome knight and taken away, or have Maramor restored to me by him.  And then you showed up, the answer to my prayer . . . and for a while, I almost loved you.  I really wanted to.  But . . .”

“But then Tyndal showed up,” Rondal said, sourly.

“It was more than that,” Arsella insisted.  “I was terrified you’d find out my secret and have me thrown out of the gate.  Or worse.   I feared you were going to be replaced, and then when he and his men showed up, I thought you had been.”

“So you never had real feelings for me,” Rondal said, bitterly.

“I had great feelings for you,” corrected Arsella.  “But I had to do what I felt was best for me.  That wasn’t you.  Or at least that’s what my heart told me.”

“And now your heart is leading you to some smelly, hairy, fat old country knight who gets to rut with you,” Rondal said, sourly.  “How is that better than . . . than me?”

“It’s not,” laughed Arsella.  “But if that is to be my fate . . . will you at least grant me a few sordid memories to carry with me into my marriage bed?” she asked, pulling him to her, tightly.

He glanced around, but they were alone, save for the guards.  “I thought you didn’t love me?”

“I do not,” she agreed.  “But I am not ungrateful.  And you have proven a far fairer friend than I deserve.  While you may not move my heart, Sir Rondal, I cannot fault you as a gentleman of great honor.  Honor that should be rewarded by a noble lady.”

“From what I understand, high-born women are not wont to share their favors so lightly,” he murmured into her ear as they walked through the autumn mist.

“Lucky for you, I wasn’t high-born,” she said, pulling him into an embrace.  “And don’t think I do share my favors lightly.  You are the worthiest knight I have ever met, my lord, and you honored me with your attention.  I was . . . I was a fool to dismiss it so lightly.”  She kissed him.

He almost asked how she felt about him now – but his lips were busy and in truth he feared the answer.  He knew she was not for him – as much as he liked her, as much as she aroused his ardor, she had failed to gain and keep his respect.  The woman he gave his heart to would have to be worthy, far worthier than Arsella.

But that did not mean Arsella was broken.  She just wasn’t for him.

At least, not after tonight.

He broke the kiss.  “It occurs to me that no one has inspected the secluded cotton shed at the far end of the manor for goblins in the last day or so.  I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed an infiltrator to escape notice by hiding there.  Would milady wish to go with me to investigate?  I promise to protect you.”

Lady Arsella of Maramor smiled contentedly and took his arm.  “Sir Rondal, I am
ever
at your service.”

Epilogue

Taragwen
Domain, Winter

Year II Of King Rard’s Reign

My heart sank when I saw the front gate of the castle.
 

Well, “castle” might be too generous, it was a fortified tower and a small, hardened shell keep, but this far up in the mountains it was perfectly adequate.
 The castle wasn’t the problem.  The banner that hung from the top of the gatehouse was crude, an old undyed wool blanket painted with a design I couldn’t quite make out.  There was a mage’s star, and a shield, and some kind of animal, but the whole thing was off-center, poorly done, and indistinct at best.