Rhapsody, Child of Blood (46 page)

"Apparently you are also blind; didn't you see that there were children in the road?"

'I did." The soldier sat back a bit in his saddle, his smile widening. It did not appear to be an expression he wore very often.

Rhapsody's anger burned into a deeper rage. "And I don't suppose it occurred to you to slow down, or perhaps try to avoid them?"

'Actually, no, it didn't. In my experience they generally move out of the way of a charging horse. It's a good lesson to instill early."

'And what if they didn't, or couldn't?" she shouted. "What if you trampled them?"

The soldier shrugged. "Obstacles that small generally won't harm the horse if it rides over them. I should have kept that in mind for you; you don't seem too big yourself."

A screech of wrath preceded the handful of mud that spat tered across his face and chest. "Come down here and I'll correct your impression," she bellowed, her hand on her sword.

'Yeah, and if there's anythin' left when you're through with 'im, Duchess, we can

'ave supper," came an angry rumble from the forest's edge.

The soldier turned and looked to see the giant Firbolg rise out of the brush, his hands clenched at his sides. The dray horses attached to the haywagon screamed in panic, as did one of the women, and the farmer hurried off in a dead run with them down the muddy road; the children had fled long before.

The soldier threw back his head and laughed. "Well, well, look at this, Paradise and Perdition, traveling companions. Fascinating. The least you could do is take down your hood, madam; I have. Or are you afraid to show your face?" He wiped the mud from his own.

With an angry tug Rhapsody pulled the hood off her head. The rider's eyes widened almost imperceptibly.

'Ah, now I know who you are; you're Rhapsody, aren't you?"

Her rage dimmed in the shock that followed his words. "How did you know that?"

The soldier shook his helmet and smoothed out the flaps, brushing the mess from them in preparation for putting it back on. "You've been studying with Gavin, and word of you has spread. From the descriptions of the foresters, you could only be the one of which they spoke."

Rhapsody felt a shuddering cold run through her as her body cooled from the fire that had blazed within her a moment before. "Why is that?"

He put his helmet back on, ignoring Grunthor. "There could only be one such freak of nature. Move out of the way, unless you want to see my horse's new shoes close up."

'Really? And just who are you? I don't know your name."

The soldier took hold of the reins again. "No, you don't," he said flatly. He clicked to the horse and then rode off in a wild gallop. She had just enough time to leap out of the way, and was spattered by the mud from the horse's wake.

,'Veil,
that was amusin', miss," said Grunthor in annoyance. "Come on, now, we need to be on our way."

Rhapsody wiped the mud from her cloak and nodded. As she crossed the road, following him back into the brush, she heard a small voice in the scrub at her feet.

'Miss?"

Rhapsody caught her breath and looked down to see a young boy, perhaps seven, hiding in the dead weeds at the edge of the road. She bent down to him and touched his face in alarm.

'Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

'Yes, miss, I mean, no, miss; I'm fine."

She helped the child to stand. "What's your name?"

The boy looked up at Grunthor and grinned. "Robin." The giant grinned back.

Rhapsody felt a lump rise in her throat. That had been the name of one of her brothers. The boy looked back at her.

'An' I know that man's name too."

'Really? What is it?"

The child smiled with an air of importance. "Why, miss, that's Anborn."

'"Che head guard at the gate of Haguefort, Lord Stephen Navarne's keep, had called the chamberlain to make a judgment. Gerald Owen had served the duke for over twenty years, coming into his employ when Lord Stephen was still just a young man, and had seen many strange sights in his time on the job. Nothing could have prepared him for what stood before him now, he was certain.

Two of the three travelers, a small woman of elegant build with enchanting green eyes, and a wiry man a head taller than she, were cloaked and hooded. In her case, it gave him cause for some disappointment; on a deep level he longed to see her unveiled. In the instance of the man, however, he believed the concealment to be a blessing.

Standing with them was a monster of grotesque proportions, well over seven feet tall and on his way to eight. The sight of the tusklike teeth that protruded from his jutting jaw had set Owen's heart to pounding wildly.

'Uh, yes, well, everything does seem to be in order," he stammered, examining the letter from Llauron the Invoker once again; this made the fifth time he had read it. "Uh, please come in." He opened the gate and nodded to the guards, who left their posts and followed the strange retinue into the keep.

The castle itself was a beautiful one, of classic design with touches of artistry, crafted from a rosy brown stone. Climbing ivy, brown and dead in grip of winter, scaled the walls, undoubtedly making for a verdant tapestry in summer. Around the perimeter of the courtyard stood high-edged gardens, pooling with water from the melting snow.

When they reached the large front door, heavily carved in black mahogany, Gerald Owen paused. "If you'll wait here, I'll tell Lord Stephen of your arrival." He bowed, then opened the door and hurried inside, closing it behind him.

While they waited, Rhapsody turned in a circle, taking in the sights around her.

Stephen Navarne's keep was situated on a gently sloping hill, with a wide view of the rolling countryside that surrounded it on three sides and the forest behind it. Grunthor had commented on their way up to the gate about the many hidden defenses the keep employed. Despite its beautiful architecture and peaceful appearance, in his assessment the castle was well fortified in the event of attack. Rhapsody could see that the intelligence of the fortifications had impressed both of her friends, at least a little.

The chamberlain had left the heavy door slightly ajar, undoubtedly to avoid insulting them completely by shutting it in their faces. Achmed now leaned back against it casually, nodding politely to the guards. The door swung open a little, as was his intent.

Within the echoing foyer of the keep a rich tenor voice could be heard.

'And she's in the company of a giant what, did you say?"

Gerald Owen's uncomfortable reply was clearly audible.

'I believe it's a Firbolg, m'lord."

'A Firbolg? Splendid! I imagine I'll be the only one at the Lord Regent's meeting next month who has ever lunched with a Firbolg. Show them in, with full hospitality."

There was a pause. "Yes, m'lord."

'Oh, move out of the way, Owen. I'll greet them myself."

Footsteps could be heard approaching, and a moment later the heavy mahogany door swung open. Behind it stood a smiling man about Achmed's height. He was young and seemed full of energy, with just the beginning touches of white creeping into his otherwise blond hair.

As with Anborn a few days before, the occasional line or H wrinkle on his face seemed in opposition to the youth apparent in his physique. Rhapsody wondered if this could be a Cymrian trait, an indication of the great longevity their voyage across Time had granted them and their progeny. As Lord Stephen was the Cymrian historian, it made sense that he might be one.

The young duke bowed politely. "Welcome! I am Stephen Navarne; please, come in." He looked at his chamberlain, who still seemed in a mild state of shock, and nodded curtly. Gerald Owen blinked, ind then swung the great door open wider.

Rhapsody and Grunthor bowed politely; Achmed nodded slightly.

'Thank you, m'lord," Rhapsody said, and came into the keep, followed by the two Firbolg a moment later. "I hope we didn't come at a bad time."

'Certainly not," said Stephen. His eyes, blue-green as highland cornflowers, smiled as he did. "And please, call me Stephen. I'm delighted you came. I will have to thank Llauron for thinking of sending you to see me. Was your journey uneventful?" As he spoke he took Rhapsody's hand and bowed over it.

The three looked at each other. "For the most part," Achmed said, forestalling Rhapsody's more candid answer. Lord Stephen looked over at him in surprise at the sound of the fricative voice. He turned and began walking away, gesturing for them to follow.

'Are you hungry? We'll be having lunch shortly, but I could scare up something for you in the meantime."

'No, thank you, that won't be necessary," Rhapsody said, hurrying to keep up with him in his excitement.

noontime meal was served in a stately dining room at a table long enough to accommodate a legion of guests. At the southern end of the room was an enormous leaded-glass window, flanked by two banks of rectangular panes, that looked out over Lord Stephen's lands and the courtyard below. The opposite wall held a hearth wide enough, Grunthor observed aloud, to roast an ox whole, a comment that drew a gale of agreeable laughter from master of the house.

'What a marvelous thought! We shall have to try it at Melly's birthday; it coincides with the first day of spring, so we customarily celebrate with a big feast."

'

'Go's Melly?"

The duke rubbed his hands together, then pointed to a large portrait, done in oils and bordered in an ornate gilt frame, hanging over the fireplace. It held the likenesses of a woman and two children, a boy and an infant girl. The woman was slender and dark, with rich brown eyes and a shy smile.

By her side stood a lad of about seven, with his father's snapping blue-green eyes and his mother's mahogany-colored hair. His baby sister, perched on the woman's lap, was his opposite, crowned with a sunshower of yellow curls above eyes as black as midnight.

'Melly—Melisande, actually—is my daughter. That's her as an infant, with my wife, Lydia, and Gwydion, our son."

Rhapsody was looking out the bank of windows with Achmed. At Lord Stephen's words she turned and smiled.

'And might we meet your family later?"

The duke returned her smile. "My children will be delighted to meet all of you. As for my wife, I'm afraid that I am a widower."

Grunthor watched the smile melt from Rhapsody's face. "Sorry to 'ear that, guv," he said, clapping Lord Stephen roughly on the back. The duke lurched forward under the well-meaning blow, then stood straight with a laugh.

'Thank you," he said, noticing that the door to the kitchen had opened and the cooks were carrying in the luncheon trays. "It's been four years now. Gwydion seems to have adjusted, and of course Melisande doesn't remember her mother at all. Come, I see Hilde bringing our meal. Gentlemen, if you'll have a seat, I'll assist the lady."

Ut took four more trays of additional helpings before Grunthor had eaten his fill of ham and roasted grouse. The china bowls that held the sweet yams and braised potatoes were emptied two or three times more than necessary to mortify Rhapsody completely.

Lord Stephen ignored her embarrassment and called for more food each time, seeming to delight in watching the giant enjoy his kitchen's hospitality. Finally, after consuming enough food to feed most of Lord Stephen's army, Grunthor declared himself full.

'Couldn't eat another bite, guv; delicious," he said, wiping his gargantuan maw with a dainty linen napkin. "Nice meal." Achmed nodded in agreement while Rhapsody covered her face with her hand and smiled.

Stephen rose from the table with a bounce. "Good! I'm so glad you liked it. Now, can I interest you all in a small glass of Canderian brandy in my study? Llauron's letter says you're interested in the museum, and it's a bit of a walk in the frigid air, so a little fortification might be in order, eh?"

'By all means," said Achmed.

Rhapsody looked up in surprise; the Dhracian rarely spoke around people he had just met. And for him, the comment seemed almost jovial. She could tell that he liked Lord Stephen better than any of the people she had seen him meet thus far in the new world.

She agreed with his assessment. There was an openness to the young duke that she had not seen up to now, and, despite some sad events in his life, he seemed full of energy and vigor. There was an excitement in just being around him, an intensity in virtually everything he said, as if he found life profoundly interesting all the time.

Lord Stephen helped her with the chair and offered her his arm. Then he looked to the Firbolg. "It's this way," he said, turning and walking toward the door on the other side of the hearth from the kitchen. The leather soles of his boots clacked resoundingly on the polished marble floor as he led them from the dining room.

says you are aware of the border incursions and attacks we have been suffering,"

Stephen said as he handed Achmed a snifter of brandy.

As before, the Dhracian was standing at the largest window in the room, this one on the eastern end of the keep, also overlooking the rolling hills of Navarne and the courtyard below. In the cobbled area two children chased each other, laughing. A broad smile crossed the duke's face when he saw them.

'Gwydion and Melisande," he said to Rhapsody as he nodded downward. She came to the window as well.

'He told us a little, nothing substantial," replied Achmed casually. He pointed over the farmlands to a thick, high stone wall, partially finished, that stretched to the north for as far as he could see. He did not mention his and Grunthor's firsthand observations. "Is that the reason for the ramparts being built?"

Stephen gave Grunthor, who had stretched out on a large leather covered couch with his feet on the table in front of him,

-31

a glass of the rich-colored liquid as well, then joined the other two at the window.

'Yes, in a word," he said matter-of-factly. "Navarne has the disadvantage of being settled primarily in small villages and communities of two or three large farms together, and it is several days' ride from my holdings to the capital city. As a result, its inhabitants are more vulnerable than most to these kinds of attacks. When the nearest military post is at least two days away, a small village or farming community can be devastated, and no one even hears of it for weeks. We've had our share of brutal raids and incursions.