Shadowmage: Book Nine Of The Spellmonger Series (21 page)

“And who is this stalwart you speak of?” Atopol asked, “And where might we find him?”

“At the Coastlord estate of Oirghort,” Tyndal said, chuckling.  “And the gentleman was
once
known as Sire Gimbal.  The Warbird of West Fleria.”

Oirghort was no ancient fortress; it was a modern estate, all elaborate halls and pristine gardens, built as a country home for Astine, the Duchess of Alshar for three years before she was found hung - an apparent suicide - in the palace at Roen.  Stricken, the Black Duke was deep in mourning when he met the future Duchess Idrina, only sixteen at the time, at Astine’s funeral.  The estate was included in the dowry of the Black Duke’s daughter from his first wife, Duchess Lindis, when she married a count in Castal, and it ended up amongst the prized assets of the current Royal family of Castalshar.

As such, it was the most appropriate residence for the unofficial representative of the King against whom the nobility of Alshar were rebelling.  As unusual as the arrangement was, there was ample feudal precedent.  Many estates were owned by absentee lords, and the feudal system rarely respected national boundaries in such cases.

Rondal was surprised to learn as he spoke to folk along the road during the two-day journey that Lord Gimbal was considered well-respected, despite his Castali origins, and was not suspected of collusion with the Royal government at all, beyond dutifully arranging the transfer of payments from their estates.

“I thought it odd that someone who could so easily be a spy isn’t being watched by the Rebel Council,” Gatina reflected, as Rondal rode next to the girl (in her full ungainly disguise) along the pleasant ride to Oirghort.  She’d taken to referring to the Count of Rhemes, the Sea Lord viscounts, and landed barons who supported the regime as “The Rebel Council” in her discussions, now, a development that Rondal noted with concern. 

“No one who met the gentleman would ever mistake him for a spymaster,” Rondal assured her.  “He is belligerent, crude, and as subtle as a battle axe.  A useful idiot, designed to be mistrusted by either side.”

“He doesn’t sound very reliable,” Gatina said, wrinkling her freckled nose.  Rondal could not see how the freckles were false, even from this close range. 

“It’s his mistrust that
makes
him reliable,” Rondal explained.  “I didn’t understand at first, either.  Master Min had to explain it to me.  Sire Gimbal was utterly defeated on the battlefield in Castal, held in disgrace, and faced exile at his brother’s court.  While he did well at the Battle of Cambrian, he had no real future in Castal . . . until Minalan gave him one. 
Here
,” he said, glancing at the expansive apple orchards that seemed to go on forever, “he is the unofficial representative of a hated foe and presumptive overlord, so he doesn’t
dare
start trouble.  It wouldn’t take much excuse for the Rebel Council to turn on him in force and confiscate the estates he’s been entrusted with, and he knows it.” 
Damn it, now he was doing it!

“So he was too much of an arse for Castal, and so much of an arse that he’ll get slain in Alshar if he misbehaves,” snorted Gatina.

“Or overthrown by peasant rebellion,” Rondal suggested.  “Or killed in his sleep by an irate henchman.  Or poisoned by the maid for improper advances.  The man attracts that kind of attention.”

“And you want to leave Ruderal’s mother in his care?”

“He threatens easily,” Rondal observed.  “And we have some leverage.  Word of his estranged son.”

“A noble and virtuous lord?”

“No, he’s about as sour as his sire,” admitted Rondal.  “But he
is
kin.  And as far as Sire Gimbal knows, we are still high in the councils of the King, his current employer.”

“So . . . you’re
bluffing
him?” Atopol asked, impressed.

“Not
exactly
,” reasoned Rondal.  “We’re more . . .
misleading
him.  And threatening him.  And scaring him.  And reminding him.”

“Reminding him of what?”

“That he lost his domain, his tiny empire, and the love of his son . . . because of
our
master.  And that he’s being watched.”

“
Is
he being watched?” she asked, smirking.  Rondal had to admit, even with the buckteeth of her costume and her plain brown eyes, there was something alluring in Gatina. 

But there was also something disturbing.  Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

There was her apparent obsession with him, which he found almost frightening in its intensity.  It wasn’t that girls hadn’t expressed interest in him, before, but having one - of such rare beauty - do so in such an intent manner made him incredibly uncomfortable.  Particularly when she’d breezed past the taller, broader, blonder, handsomer Tyndal as a clumsy buffoon in preference to . . . him.

It wasn’t anything he’d done to purposefully attract her attention.  He was merely completing a mission.  But the girl was almost obsessively interested in him, for no good reason that he could see, and her stated intention to bear his children some day as his lawfully wedded wife . . . scared the crap out of him.

Still, he tried to maintain his composure.  He did not want to hurt her feelings, particularly since she and her family represented a potentially vital alliance.  But he was afraid that Tyndal’s attempt to dissuade her had inadvertently set her on the path of a revolutionary.

Because of
him.

What could one obsessive shadowmage thief apprentice possibly do to topple the rebels?
he’d asked, when Rondal presented the matter to him earlier in the day.

Have you not seen the intensity in her eyes?  If she dedicated herself to becoming Queen of the Five Duchies, I’d expect her to wear the Crown of Kamaklavan someday.

But she only wants
you, Tyndal taunted. 
Don’t you feel lucky?

Tyn!  I feel like I’m . . . I’m . . .

The term is ‘desired’,
his friend explained. 
She
desires
you.
 

Tyn, she
can’t
desire me!
Rondal objected. 
She just
can’t!

Why not?  What’s wrong with you?

Besides being partnered to a perpetual exercise in crisis management? How about the fact that I’m a knight in a time of war?  A couple of wars?

So is Master Min,
Tyndal said with a mental shrug. 
He’s managed to have a couple of children along the way.  And a wife - our friend Lady Alya.  He seems pretty happy about it.

He’s ancient, over thirty!  Of course he wants to settle down!

And with this little fib, we’ve arranged it so that you can safely perform your errantry and get yourself gloriously slain
long
before the conditions of our supposed vow are fulfilled,
he pointed out. 

That’s the thing . . . you heard Gatina.  She wants to help, to prove herself worthy of me - and I never set any kind of conditions.  How did I get myself into this?

Look, I honestly don’t know,
admitted Tyndal. 
It just kind of happened, and you’re just kind of there.  But don’t look at it as a problem, Striker.  Look at it as an
opportunity. 
This girl thinks you’re the gods’ gift to magekind, or something, and wants to have your babies.  She’s clearly delusional.  But someone with that kind of . . . extreme nature is also likely to find fault with you, at some point.  Until then, just relax and enjoy the ride.  You were right: violet eyes to
die
for. 

Tyndal!
Rondal moaned into his friend’s mind. 
Why are you encouraging this?  She held a sword at your throat!

She snuck up on me as quietly as a whisper and could have slit my throat before I knew it happened
, admitted the big knight. 
I almost pissed myself.  She handled that blade like she was born with it in her hand.  You
have to respect that.  And she is a mage.  A twisty, half-mad, outrageously devious thief of a mage, but still a mage.  You could do worse. 

You really . . .
like
her?

Striker,
Tyndal assured him,
the moment she jumped into your lap and kissed you and made you nearly piss yourself, she won a place in my heart.

Asshole.

Just spend some time with her, get to know her.  Find out what she likes, what kind of person she is, what her favorite flower is.  Flirt, a little -- Ishi knows you could use the practice.  And she’s quite willing to respond.  Just . . . don’t
reject
her.  In all seriousness.

Why not?
Rondal asked, genuinely curious.

Because women take rejection far worse than we do,
he explained.

What do you mean?  We get rejected
all the time!

You
get rejected all the time.  But I’ve had my share of snubs,
he admitted. 
Trust me, when you turn your back on a woman who has shown that level of interest in you, you tear at her heart.

So?

So I think this Kitten is not a girl whose heart would bear much rending, before her claws came out,
Tyndal said, poetically. 

I . . . take your point.  But you want me to encourage her?

I want you to get to know her, you clod.  Find out who she is and whether you could, in fact, spend the rest of your life bound to someone who is clearly so disturbed.  Besides, once she really gets to know the real you, she’s bound to realize what a horrific error in judgment she’s making.

Uh . . . thanks,
he’d said, only partially sarcastically.  Tyndal did, indeed, have more positive experience with girls, he had to admit.  And he seemed to understand their nuances far better than Rondal.  Nor had he ever purposefully led his friend astray in his advice on affairs of the heart.

So he’d climbed aboard the drover’s seat of the luxurious carriage that afternoon as it rumbled down the dirt track through thousands of fruit trees arranged in beautiful orchards to converse with her. 

He could tell at once she enjoyed the attention, though she stayed perfectly in character the entire time.

“Enough about Sire Gimbal,” Rondal eventually said, worried they’d spend the time engrossed in politics.  Tyndal was right, he decided.  If she was interested, he at least deserved to know if he was at all interested in her.  “What can you tell me about your deridingly odd family?” he asked, in a friendly tone.

“Lies, half-truths, and deceptions built into our house over six hundred years,” Gatina said, with a smirk.  “It’s an impressive legacy of fiction, actually.  But what I enjoy is the danger,” she said, shivering involuntarily.  “The doing something no one else can do, going places no one else can go, stealing things everyone else thinks are impossible to steal . . .”