To Nermesa, his description almost made it sound as if Eduarco had
bought
Jenoa like a piece of merchandise. Perhaps, the knight pondered, that was not so far from the truth. It would not be the first time that a daughter had been so bartered in exchange for possible favor and an alliance.
“And I was glad to be away from there,” Jenoa continued, smiling briefly at her husband and much longer to their guest. “Poitain is a much more glorious place. I think only Tarantia would be more exciting to live in.
You
live in Tarantia, don’t you, Nermesa?”
“All my life. And upon my return, I and my betrothed will be married and live in a house very near the palace.”
If he expected his carefully designed answer to dissuade her from further flirtation, Nermesa was again wrong. His mention of Telaria went uncommented upon, but not where he intended to make his residence.
“So near the
palace
! You would probably see the king very often, then?”
It was Wulfrim who suddenly spoke up. “He is a Black Dragon, my lady. When he is in Tarantia, I daresay he sees King Conan nearly every day up close. Isn’t that so, Sir Nermesa?”
Nermesa had not mentioned that he was also now a baron, in part because he had not wanted to lord his new status over those giving him shelter and sustenance, but also because it would likely raise him even higher in Jenoa’s eyes. Obviously, even Count Trocero’s court paled compared to that of the king’s.
“The king, on occasion, does visit Trocero,” Eduarco said, for the first time almost sounding defensive. “You recall that we went to the last such event, my dear.”
“And it was a marvelous hint of what palace life must be like, darling, but just that.”
Grunting, the Poitainian noble took his goblet and, after downing much of what remained of his wine, looked to Nermesa. “Have you had enough, Sir Nermesa?”
The Aquilonian assumed that Eduarco meant the food, not Jenoa. “Yes, thank you.”
“Terrible business, this, about poor Sir Prospero! And now you, also, nearly ridden down by those brigands! Your escape was very harrowing!”
“Mitra watched over me. Hopefully, he watches over Sir Prospero, too.”
His host nodded enthusiastically. “Do you think Prospero still lives? If there is a ransom, rest assured, I will be glad to assist in its payment! Truly, I would!”
“That’s most kind of you,” Nermesa replied with a nod. The nod, however, nearly ended in him drifting off. Shaking his head, the Aquilonian quickly said, “My apologies, Lord Eduarco. I meant no offense.”
“None taken, none taken. I hope you realize that, despite your protests earlier, you’re definitely staying the night?”
While Nermesa still would have liked to ride on, his body could no longer do so. It would prove difficult enough rising out of the chair, much less mounting a horse and traveling the open road for another two hours, as Wulfrim had earlier explained any such excursion would require. If the knights had been heading at such a clip westward, then they had been en route to a particular outpost, the Gunderman had told him. Nermesa knew that in his present condition he would never be able to complete the journey.
“Yes, I suppose I must . . .” the Aquilonian finally answered. “and for that I’m very grateful.” Still, he could not be lax in his duties. “But I have to send word somehow—”
“I’ll send a messenger,” Wulfrim promised. “He’ll deliver whatever message you want. Braggi, most likely. A reliable man.”
“A Gunderman like our Wulfrim here! Can’t ask for more trustworthy than that, eh?”
Mulling over the offer, Nermesa decided that it was the best he could hope for at this point. “I thank you, both.”
Wulfrim stepped from the corner. “It might be good if Sir Nermesa was shown to his quarters, my lady Jenoa.”
She rose from her chair with the same ethereal grace that accompanied her every other move. “But of course. If you’d please, Nermesa?”
“With gratitude, my lady.” He looked to Lord Eduarco, but the Poitainian seemed disinclined to leave while there was still some wine and food left on the table. “And with your permission, my lord?”
“Be off with you, then, my good sir. Sleep well!”
“I’ll have a servant bring you materials with which you can put together your missive, Sir Nermesa,” Wulfrim said, coming around to where the knight stood. “A pouch and wax for a seal, too, as I know you’ll want the message to be secure for the outpost commander’s eyes only.”
Nermesa appreciated the Gunderman’s typical practicality and understanding. It was likely that Eduarco relied on him for much of the running of the estate. Gundermen made for excellent overseers and managers.
“I thank you, Wulfrim.”
Lady Jenoa’s alabaster arm insinuated itself around Nermesa’s. The Brythunian’s glittering eyes met his. “This way, sir knight.”
She had likely captivated many a man with those entrancing eyes, but her attempt utterly failed with Nermesa. Purposely looking back at her husband one last time, he said, “Good night, my lord.”
Mouth full, Eduarco managed a nod.
Jenoa paused to pick up one of the candelabra from the table. Nermesa politely took it from her, for which he was granted another smile. With his guide leaning uncomfortably close to him, the knight proceeded out of the dining hall.
They did not, as Nermesa had surmised, head for the staircase. Instead, Jenoa led him toward a side corridor that headed farther to the east.
“It would be best if you stayed near the tower,” she explained as they walked. “Fewer disturbances. More secluded.”
Nermesa made no comment.
“She must be very lovely.”
“Who, my lady?”
“Silly! Your betrothed. What was her name?”
The Aquilonian hesitated, then replied, “Telaria.”
Eduarco’s wife nodded satisfaction. “A pleasant enough name. I suppose she’s very pleasant. Will it be a grand wedding? With the king and his court invited?”
While he would have preferred it otherwise, Nermesa knew that the wedding would turn into an event of monumental proportions. “Very likely.”
“Mine was a simple affair.” And with that, the golden-tressed woman said no more. Still, Nermesa thought he caught a hint of jealousy.
She brought him to a second set of stairs, these seeming more appropriate for servants seeking to stay out of sight of their masters. Jenoa slipped in front of Nermesa as they ascended, making certain that the knight was provided with an unavoidable view of her curvaceous backside.
“This back stairway leads more directly to the room in which you will be staying,” the Brythunian beauty explained. She extended one smooth hand upward. “Beyond the floor where you’ll be is the tower. I spend much time up there on my own. Should you find sleep difficult, by all means feel free to visit . . .”
“Thank you, my lady, but I feel certain that I will be asleep almost the moment my head touches the pillow.”
She glanced down over her shoulder at him, smiling coyly. “I know you’ve been through quite a lot! Most men wouldn’t have survived, but you made it to our home and on foot, even! You must be a
very
strong man! I’ve never known such endurance.”
“I am a Black Dragon. In the service of my liege, I must be prepared to face any trial.”
Jenoa rewarded him with a throaty chuckle, then gestured at the landing they next approached. “This is the floor.”
Servants had clearly been sent ahead to prepare the chambers set aside for Nermesa. Candles already illuminated the room, which had mahogany-covered walls—a costly wood as it needed to be imported from a great distance to Poitain—and a blue marble floor upon which lay three large animal-skin rugs. Nermesa identified them as a bear, a panther, and a wolf. To his trained eye, there were marks in the fur where an expert seamstress had closed up gashes, likely from spears or swords.
“Your husband is a hunter.”
“Hmm?” His hostess looked perplexed for a moment, then saw where his gaze shifted. “Oh. Yes. A hunter. Yes.”
The Aquilonian would not have thought it to look at the heavyset noble. Likely, when Eduarco hunted, he had Wulfrim and other men pursue the beast, perhaps even caging it. Then, as was often the case with men of his station, Eduarco would close on the caged animal, stabbing through the bars until it was dead. By the marks Nermesa had noted, it seemed that even then the Poitainian had needed many attempts to finish the task.
Nermesa immediately chastised himself for thinking so harshly of his benefactor. Lord Eduarco had opened up his home to the struggling knight, and this was how the Aquilonian thanked him. Nermesa immediately focused on the bed and its thick, plush pillows. Four posts carved to resemble Poitainian knights at attention framed the bed, and to the right, a small, matching chest sat. Upon the polished top sat a brass oil lamp.
“The room is to your liking?”
“Yes, my lady. Very much so. You needn’t have bothered. I could have slept anywhere.”
Again came the throaty giggle. “Oh?”
Silently cursing his poor wording, Nermesa took the woman’s hand and kissed it gently on the back. “My thanks to you and your husband again. If you’ll excuse me, though, I fear I must prepare to retire.”
To his relief, Jenoa revealed no hint of anger at his continued rejection of her. Instead, the Brythunian woman curtsied—in the process perhaps attempting to remind Nermesa of what he had refused—then said, “May your dreams be pleasant ones . . .”
It was with an audible exhalation that Nermesa finally shut the door. He had every intention of being out of the estate at first light, the better to keep any further contact with Eduarco’s bride to a minimum. Nermesa felt some sympathy for the noble; clearly he had married more than he had likely expected.
With avid interest, the knight eyed the bed. However, barely had he reached for the first lace of his armor when there was a knock on the door. Nermesa hesitated, fearing that Jenoa had come back to ply him with her beauty again.
Fortunately, a male voice from without chose that moment to declare, “My lord Nermesa. ’Tis I, Wulfrim. I’ve brought you parchment, ink, and the other items for your message.”
Nermesa swung open the door. The Gunderman bowed politely. Bundled in his hands were the various things that he had promised the knight earlier.
There was a small table with an accompanying chair on one side of the room. Nermesa gestured to it. “There, if you please.”
Depositing the items on the table, Wulfrim glanced around the room. “You’re alone.”
“Yes.”
“I hesitated before knocking,” the Gunderman explained. “My lady Jenoa can be very persuasive, even to those of the staunchest of hearts.” When Nermesa remained silent, Wulfrim executed another slight bow. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant nothing unseemly about it. Just alerting you.”
“Thank you, but there was no necessity.” Nermesa eyed the parchment. “It shouldn’t take me long to complete the message.”
“Then, with your permission, I shall wait outside your door and take everything with me to Braggi, who already prepares his mount for travel.”
“I’d be grateful.”
Setting aside his sword and sheath, Nermesa went to work as soon as the Gunderman departed. At first the message flowed quickly, but the more Nermesa sat, the more his exhaustion sought to take hold again. It was with some effort that he finally finished, then readied the pouch and seal.
Wulfrim, who had been leaning against the opposing wall in the corridor, straightened as soon as the door opened. He took the sealed message from the Aquilonian, stating, “I’ll see to it that it’s taken care of, my lord.”
“Thank you again, Wulfrim.”
“Best you get some sleep now, my lord. Truth to tell, you look all done in.”
Bolontes’ son could not argue with him. “I plan to do just that.”
Once the Gunderman had vanished down the hall, Nermesa not only shut the door but bolted it, too. He did not want to chance his hostess suddenly materializing at his bedside in the middle of the night.
Nermesa quickly doused the candles, leaving only the lamp by the bed on. He sat down atop the bed, trying to catch his breath. When that failed to work, the Aquilonian did what he normally would not have as a guest in such a house. He lay down, armor and all, atop the blankets and pillows. A few minutes’ recuperation would be all that Nermesa needed. Then he would remove everything.
A bleating sound briefly caught his attention, a sound that reminded him of the call of a goat or sheep. Nermesa would have paid it no mind at all save for the odd notion that it sounded much too close, almost as if the animal wandered inside the house and not all that far from his chambers.
But when he listened for it again, he heard nothing. Nermesa finally chalked it up to his exhaustion. Once more he cleared his thoughts—
And the next instant, a hand was covering his mouth with a cloth while some heavy force—his attacker, Nermesa slowly realized—pressed him down onto the bed.
The oil lamp still glowed dimly, but it failed to reveal much to Nermesa. His attacker was no more than a dark shadow above him. Yet that shadow pressed down upon the Aquilonian as if the world itself.
Despite his terrible predicament, the Black Dragon felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. There was some concoction on the cloth the intruder held over his nose and mouth that sapped Nermesa of his strength.
But if the mysterious assassin had caught Nermesa unaware, he himself had underestimated the knight’s resolution. Nermesa did not attempt to knock the figure off of him, but simply used what leverage he could to twist his own body to one side of the bed.
It was enough to cause his attacker’s hand to slip from his mouth. As Nermesa inhaled fresh air, the other man tried to readjust his position. However, Nermesa’s reflexes took over, the desperate knight managing to shove both of them from the bed.