Authors: Sarah McKerrigan
Her
reply apparently satisfied Sung Li, for without another word, the old woman
hurried off as she'd come, silently as a cat.
Rand
would have much preferred to continue where they'd left off, with Miriel
begging for his kiss and his loins awakening at her urging. But if they did,
one kiss would lead to another, kissing would lead to fondling, fondling would
lead them up to Miriel's bedchamber, and they'd never make it out the front
gates.
Rand
had promised to take her to the fair. He'd also promised her a lover's token.
Late
last night, after much reflection and consideration, he'd decided what that
token would be. And now that he'd made up his mind, he was anxious to make his
way to the fair to find the right craftsman from whom he might purchase such a
treasure.
He
offered her his arm. "Shall we, my lady?"
She
looped her arm through his and smiled engagingly. What followed was the most
enjoyable day Rand had ever spent at a fair.
************************************
Miriel
had always loved fairs, but this was the first time she'd been to one with a
suitor and without a chaperone. Strolling down the winding rows upon the arm of
a man she adored made it a completely new experience.
Naturally
she brought a list of necessities to purchase for the castle—beeswax candles
and earthen vessels, medicines to replace those she'd given to the monastery,
cinnamon from Burma and pepper from India—but for once, at Rand's prodding, she
dawdled at booths selling more frivolous wares.
She
examined a table full of silver cloak pins, worked into fantastical shapes of
dragons and harts, lions and wild boars. Another booth featured a bright array
of ribbons in every color of the rainbow. A
femme sole
from
Normandy offered bottled scents of lavender and rose. Down another row, a
leatherworker sold soft purses of all shapes and sizes, fastened with buttons
made of cow's horn. And one merchant offered tiny corked vials of dust, which
he claimed was earth from Christ's tomb.
Strolling
down the armorers' row, Rand stopped to inspect a display of blades from
Toledo, but decided the merchant was overcharging for his wares. 'Twould be
cheaper, he muttered to Miriel, to pay for passage to Spain himself and
purchase a weapon there.
At
another booth, he found daggers of reasonable price, but inferior quality,
something only a cautious purchaser would recognize.
He
took particular interest in a handsome blade at a third shop, until the vendor
told him 'twas the actual sword of King Arthur, at which point he steered
Miriel away with all haste, rolling his eyes in disbelief.
Miriel's
admiration for him increased with their every transaction. Rand might not be
able to read, but he had a sharp mind when it came to commerce. He might not be
as wealthy as a lord, but she could be certain he'd never squander her dowry.
'Twas a comforting thought.
They'd
almost reached the end of armorers' row when Miriel's eyes lit upon a motley
array of used weapons from all over the world. There were curved sabers and
short Roman swords, a couple of broad Viking blades and
a
great Saxon battle-axe. But what made her catch her breath was the weapon
propped against the corner pole of the merchant's pavilion. 'Twas a perfect
shang chi.
a
Chinese double halberd. The long black handle was painted with a red dragon
whose tail spiraled down its length, ending at the red tassel that hung from
its end. The twin openwork blades looked like the wings of a silver butterfly.
Completely
forgetting Rand, she reached for the beautiful weapon, hefting it in one hand.
The craftsmanship was superb, the balance was incredible, and someone had
taken very good care of the blades, for as she ran a thumb over one of the
edges, she cut through the first layer of skin. 'Twas rare to find a piece of
such exceptional quality, and her pulse raced at the idea of acquiring it.
"How
much for this?" she asked, trying to keep from sounding too eager.
The
merchant blinked at her, aghast, then looked askance at Rand.
Rand's
brows drew together in puzzlement. "Are you interested in this?"
Miriel
glanced between the two men. God's hooks! In her excitement over the
shang chi,
she'd
forgotten that today she was only a maid of Rivenloch, not a master of Chinese
warfare. |
"Aye,"
she bluffed. "For Sung Li." She addressed the merchant, pretending
ignorance. " 'Tis Chinese, is it not?"
The
merchant nodded. "Mayhap the gentleman would like to try it." He
practically pried it out of her possessive grip and handed the weapon to Rand.
She
bit her lip in frustration as Rand turned the blade this way and that.
"How
much?" she repeated.
Rand
scowled. "It could not be much of a weapon, not with open blades like
that. They would break off on impact."
She
shook her head. '"Tis made for slicing, not chopping," she told him.
"And the steel is very strong, folded and fired up to a dozen times."
Both
men stared at her.
"Or
so I've heard," she finished lamely.
"If
I may?" the merchant asked, gesturing for the weapon.
Rand
handed it to him so he could demonstrate its use.
"The
shang fu
is
an ancient weapon from China," he intoned.
"Shang chi,"
Miriel
corrected.
"What?"
"Shang chi.
'Tis
called a
shang chi."
She assured Rand, "Sung Li told me so."
The
merchant gave her a disapproving frown. But when she glanced at Rand, she saw
subtle amusement dancing in his eyes.
"The
fu
has
a closed blade, like a halberd," she said softly. "This is an open
blade, a
shang
chi."
The
merchant disliked being corrected, particularly by a woman, Miriel supposed.
But he continued his demonstration for Rand, hefting a rotten apple from a
basket on his table. "I suppose it doesn't matter what you call it as long
as it does the damage, eh, sir?"
Making
sure no one was in range, he rested the pole on his shoulder and tossed the
apple onto the path. Then, using both hands, he swung the blade up over his
head with the intent of bringing it straight down like an axe to split the
apple.
Miriel's
heart lodged in her throat. Jesu! The impact of the ground would dull the sharp
blade. She had to
stop
him.
She
acted on instinct. As the blade started its descent, she stepped toward the
merchant. She grabbed the handle of the
shang chi
with one hand. With the heel
of her other hand, she struck his elbow, not hard enough to break it, just
enough to make him release the weapon.
With
a yelp of pain, he let go, and she managed to deflect the blow enough that the
blade only grazed the dirt.
She'd
saved the weapon.
But
now she'd thrown herself from the kettle into the fire.
There
she stood with the incriminating
shang chi
in her grip. The merchant
staggered back, cradling his cracked elbow. Rand stared at her in awe. And a small,
curious crowd was beginning to gather.
With
as much feminine helplessness as she could manage, she shrugged an apology and
handed the weapon back to the merchant. "I'm so sorry. I must have...
slipped." Then she realized she might use that to her advantage. "I
feel so wretched. Please, let me pay you for the blade."
The
merchant looked at her with doleful eyes, but clearly he wasn't about to pass
up a sale. "That's eight shillings. Nay, ten shillings."
She
was tempted to haggle with the cheat, but she supposed she owed him something
for the damage to his arm. Besides, that piece was likely worth more than he
knew. She counted out the pieces of silver from her purse.
Then
the merchant made the mistake of trying to ally with Rand against her.
"Naught more dangerous than a wench with a sharp blade, eh?"
Rand
grinned back. "Only a knave with a sharp wit." He sidled up to the
man, smiling companionably, and spoke loudly enough for the bystanders to hear.
"Since my lady saved you from chopping off your own toes, my good man, I'd
think you'd be more than happy to shave a little off the price."
"What?"
He blinked rapidly.
Miriel
raised her brows.
The
crowd began whispering among themselves.
"Is
that true?" a toothless old man asked Rand. "Is that why the wee lass
jumped in front of the blade?"
"Oh,
aye," he said soberly, "heedless of her own safety."
"He
would have chopped his toes clean off with that Devil's blade," an
apple-cheeked woman agreed. "I saw the whole thing."
"Indeed?"
A scrawny, bearded man popped his head through the gathering crowd. "And
he's going to make her pay?"
'"Tisn't
right."
"You'd
think the wretch would be grateful."
The
onlookers' speculations grew more and more wild, and Miriel began to be
embarrassed as the story grew all out of proportion.
"Who
saved his life?"
"The
wee lass. He might have killed himself with that nasty blade if she
hadn't..."
"...
snatched it right from his hand."
"...
saved his ungrateful hide."
"...swept
in like a guardian angel and knocked the Reaper flat on his arse."
"That
merchant's a thankless cur, that's what he is."
"I
won't be buying my weapons from the varlet."
"All
right! All right!" the merchant cried, then told Rand, "Eight
shillings."
The
toothless old man chimed in.
"You
should pay
her
for
saving your life."
As
the mayhem grew around her, Miriel stole a glance at Rand. His eyes sparkled
with devilry as he stood with his arms crossed smugly over his chest. The
wicked lad appeared to be thoroughly enjoying the chaos he'd created.
"You
are a knave," she murmured.
"And
you are
a l
iar," he said
affectionately, carrying the
shang chi
for her.
As
quietly as possible, Miriel pressed eight shillings into the merchant's palm
and slipped through the crowd. When they left, the bystanders were still
arguing about what had happened, who had saved whom, and where they would or
would not buy their weapons. Miriel couldn't help but wonder what a toothless
old peasant wanted with an ancient sword anyway.
Miriel
should have realized she couldn't escape from the altercation completely
unscathed. Rand had questions.
“So
how did you come to know so much about Chinese weaponry?”
She
shrugged. "Sung Li."
"And
how did a wee old maidservant come to know so much?"
"She
...
her father was a warrior." Miriel
bit her lip. It might be true, but she didn't actually know. Sung Li never
spoke of his parents, only of his teachers.
"But
surely he didn't teach her to wield such weapons."
He
was treading on dangerous ground. She had to be careful. "Sung Li has
always been very observant."
"And
are you?"
"What?"
"Are
you observant? How did
you
learn to wield such weapons?"