The Sword (13 page)

The six brothers all looked at the tabletop. It was covered in dirty dishes and bits of uneaten food, fruit cores and rinds, bread crusts, and the inevitable stains associated with years of use. From the stains under the placement of the goblets, it looked like their users didn't care about mopping up spills, and from the browning of some of the apple cores, it was clear that they had not been cleaned away since the last meal eaten in this place.

One of them shrugged, the one with hair more coppery than her own strawberry blond locks, lifting his green eyes to hers. “What about it?”

“It's filthy!”

“We have been eating off of it,” the tallest, most muscular of the brothers reasoned in a rumbling-low voice, his own brown hair shaggy as it fell in layers to just below his collarbone. “Naturally it is dirty at the moment.”

“I mean it should be scrubbed and sanded and refinished, rather than let bits of things clump into dark, sticky spots,” Kelly returned. She wiggled her toes in her slipper, letting them hear the almost velcro-like sound of her shoe adhering to a similarly disgusting spot underfoot. One that she had stepped on in her approach. “The same goes for this floor. And I haven't seen so many cobwebs and dust bunnies since
Dracula Needs a Wife
, on the old movie channel!”

“The what?” one of them asked. “And who?”

Kelly shook her head. “Never mind. If I'm going to be stuck here for five months, I insist on a certain standard of hygiene and cleanliness. And you
will
be thanking me for it before I am done with you,” she added, pushing up her light blue sleeves in a no-nonsense manner. “Now, the first thing we will do is—”

“The
first
thing we will do,” Morganen overrode her, coming around and urging her into the nearest empty chair, “is see that you are properly fed. And then we will place ourselves at your disposal for the rest of the day.” The others started making noises of protest. At a pointed look and an equally pointed throat-clearing from their youngest, they muttered under their breaths and sat back down as soon as she was seated. “It may be a little cool, but the food is still quite palatable, which you will soon see.

“Of course, Rydan would be here to accept your praises,” Morganen added, serving her on Saber's untouched, empty plate, “but he shuns the day and only stays long enough to prepare at least part of our breakfast, usually the rising of the bread and maybe one or two other things; he takes his own plate back with him to his tower, which not even we are allowed to enter. Well, not beyond the chamber up at the parapet level. He does join us for the evening meal, though, which we always hold after sundown to ensure we actually get to see him once in a while.”

“That's the black-haired one, with the black eyes?” Kelly wanted to clarify, thinking of the grumpy one that had passed her during the mekh-something cleanup, the one who had seemed like a part of the night, a storm of barely contained power sweeping past her.

“Yes—don't just sit there like lumps; introduce yourselves!” Morganen added to his brothers, pouring her some more of the sweet-tart, greenish juice she had tasted before. “Everyone, this is the Lady Kelly of Doyle.”

“I'm not a lady,” Kelly pointed out with quick honesty. That wasn't entirely true; she had a couple of honorariums from the medieval society that had come with a title or two, but now was not the time to explain the difference between real and make-believe. “I'm a citizen of the United States of America, and thus the equal of anyone else. That's all I need to be.”

The one with the coppery-blond hair, darker and redder than her own, if sun-streaked with cream, the one with the cat-green eyes who had ogled her despite the fury of her approach, smiled charmingly. “Oh, but any woman who braves the dangers of Nightfall Isle is the most noble and worthy of women.”

“Dangers?” she asked, arching a brow. “Little black mekha-whatchamacallits, cobwebs, and sticky spots on the floor, and grumpy men who have let their gentlemanly manners slide into oblivion in, what was it, the past three years?”

“Mainly the lattermost,” Morganen agreed dryly, resuming his seat. “You have already met me, more or less; I am Morganen the Mage, youngest of the Eight and the one who brought you here.”

To him, she would be polite. She did owe him her life and the ability to converse with her hosts, after all. “And for my timely rescue, I thank you again, Morganen,” Kelly returned with a polite nod, glad
someone
was willing to be civilized and talk, not yell, with her. She looked at the man seated on her left, the one with the dark brown hair and the blue eyes, clad in dark blue. “And you are?”

“Dominor, the Master, third of us. And I serve only myself. Prod the others into aiding you,” he added with cool disdain. “I will not bow to an outlander woman's will.”

K
elly glanced around the table, seeing how the others took his comment. Her determination to stay on top of this bizarre situation hardened the moment she realized most of the others were silently agreeing with him. Morganen was the only one who met her eyes with any real encouragement for her presence among them. He even gave her a slight nod; from the encouraging look in his eyes, she knew it wasn't an agreement with his brother's pronouncement.

Braced by that silent permission, Kelly snapped her hand up and attacked the man next to her in a lightning-fast movement. One taught to her by her grandmother, not by her martial arts instructors. Her fingers pinched the curve of Dominor's ear in an unshakable grip: the infamous Granny Doyle maneuver.

“Ow! Let go, woman!”

Kelly tightened her grip and stood, towering over him, only because he was seated. “Get used to it, buster. Where
I
come from,” she added, exaggerating quite a bit, “no man would dare treat a woman in that insulting and condescending manner. If I say you're going to scrub the floor with your favorite toothbrush, you
are
going to scrub the floor with your favorite toothbrush!

“Women are the keepers of civilization, and by all the gods of both this world and mine, you
will
become civilized again!” She jerked on his ear while he tried futilely to pry her hand off of it, and glared at the others. “Do any of the rest of you have a problem with being civilized in my presence?”

“Let go of my ear, woman, or I'll turn you into a toad!” he demanded, glaring up at her.

Kelly yanked him half up out of his chair by his ear, tugging his handsome, grimacing face close to her own. “Have you ever heard of the word
please
? Or
thank you
, or the phrase
if you would be so kind
? I am sick and tired of being yelled at by you overgrown, immature men!” she yelled herself. A thrust of her hand, and he dropped back into his chair, rubbing at the ear she had roughly released. Planting her hands on her hips, Kelly glared at the rest of them. “I solemnly swear, the next man who raises his voice to me, or threatens me, or behaves with anything less than civil courtesy to me, will end up eating dirt!”

“And how are you going to make me behave?
Especially
once I have turned you into the toad you are, woman!” Dominor growled, shoving to his feet to tower over and glare at her in turn.

“That does it!” A hitch of her skirts, and she kicked with her slippered foot. Not at him, but at the chair behind him, then at the one behind her, scraping them both out of the way. Before either piece of furniture had finished rocking from her rough shoves, she grabbed the bigger man by the arm, whirled, twisted, and flipped him onto the floor. A torque of the arm still caught in her grip, a shove of her slippered foot on the back of his head, and she pinned him face-down, almost effortlessly.

“Ow! Dammit, woman!”

She wiggled her foot, making his cheek bounce more or less in the same sticky spot her slipper had found mere moments before. “Do you
feel
that crud on the floor? Do you
like
the feel of that crud?” she added pointedly, almost perversely cheerful in this hearty release of all her anger and frustration at her situation. “Congratulations, Dominor!
You
just volunteered to clean it up!”

In spite of her racing heart, in spite of the acknowledgment that he probably could literally turn her into a toad…Kelly found the stunned looks on all of their faces to be quite exhilarating. She took ruthless control of that fact, and the situation. Doyles didn't waste a good tactical advantage, after all.

“You see, I don't need magic to beat the crap out of you…but you have to use it to equal me. You know what, Dominor?” she added, addressing the brother under her foot. “I
like
it, that this fact sticks in your throat—
and
to your face. The fact that I can make you eat dirt without having to use magic like some kind of crutch!

“Oh, and I wouldn't ever again threaten to turn me into anything I wasn't meant by God and nature to be in the first place, mister,” she added sweetly, torquing his arm a little more, making him gasp. “You see, I would still be a woman inside of that toad shape you threatened to turn me into, and all the darkest powers of Hell have nothing on a woman who's gotten good and mad at some stupid, idiotic man!” Another yank, and he grunted from the pain. “Now, are you going to shut up and obey me? Or shall I tie your body into knots with my otherworldly knowledge and extradimensional ways?”

He muttered something.

“Excuse me;
what
did you say?” Kelly asked, tweaking his arm a little more, though not quite to the point of dislocation. It got the results she wanted, more or less.

“Truce!”

“I didn't hear a ‘please'; I specifically requested civilized words like
please,
remember?” she asked him mock-sweetly, as his brothers stared, not daring to interfere at the sight of the second most powerful of the brothers present at breakfast being pinned so helplessly to the floor.

“Truce…
please
.”

It was said through his teeth, but it was a please nonetheless. Kelly released him, stepped back, smoothed out her skirts, and hooked her chair back into place with a toe and a hand, as he scrambled to his feet. One brother down, the rest to go. She remained on her feet while the third-born of the brothers straightened his clothes, glaring at her.

“Does anyone else care to challenge my status as a woman and therefore the keeper of civilization for the duration of my visit in this household? No?
Excellent.
Do not yell at me, do not threaten me, and do not treat me with anything less than the respect I am due, gentlemen, as your peer and your equal. Or I will redefine this universe's version of the meaning of holy terror. As is my right, as a woman.”

Reseating herself, she picked up the fork at her place setting.

“Actually, I am quite easy to get along with, under most civilized circumstances. Treat me nicely, and I will do the same to you. It's that simple.”

“I still ought to turn you into a toad,” Dominor growled, but he reseated himself, dragging his chair back into place. Morganen watched him, but the third-eldest brother merely eyed the woman in their midst for a long moment. A sigh, and he spoke. Politely. “How did you manage to pin me down like that? You barely weigh half of what I do!”

“Like I said, it's my otherworldly way. Should you be unkind or uncivil to me again, I would be delighted to demonstrate both that and several other painful techniques on your various extremities,” Kelly offered smoothly, mock-sweetly. “But only if you act impolitely.”

Dominor stared at her a moment more, then looked elsewhere. “Thank Kata she's not
my
Fate…”

The green-eyed, coppery-haired brother choked on a laugh, caught in the middle of a sip of his juice. Since he was the next one seated around the table, Kelly focused on him, narrowing her eyes in warning. “Yes? You wished to introduce yourself, politely?”

He coughed, and the male seated next to him, Evanor, whacked him helpfully on the back until the copper-haired man shoved his brother away. “Uh, yes. Please. And, uh, thank you—oh, and if you would be ever so kind…”

Green eyes gleamed with humor at that last part, flashing with his quick, charming grin. Kelly rolled her own, not that impressed. “Your name, then, if you please?”

“Trevan the Cat, fifth of the former family Corvis, now the family Nightfall…and it will be my
pleasure
to please you in any way you wish, my lady,” he added in a tone that was almost a purr. A seductive sound, actually…but not
that
seductive. Kelly had been hit on before in her life by suave, handsome men, and was as little impressed by this male's efforts now as she had been back then. He was cute, but his manner was just a little too contrived for her tastes.

“Uh-huh. Thank you for your kind and polite introduction,” Kelly allowed him with brief but unimpressed politeness of her own, then looked at Evanor. “I know you are named Evanor—”

“Evanor the Song,” he agreed mildly, tucking a strand of his light blond hair behind one well-shaped ear.

All of the brothers had straight noses, high cheekbones, firm jaws and foreheads, well-shaped brows, and small, perfect-for-nibbling sized ears…including the eldest brother.
Stop thinking about the big lug,
Kelly ordered herself, suppressing the urge to wince.
Pay attention! These are your hosts for the next ungodly stretch of time.

Evanor continued with a soft smile. “I am the younger twin of Dominor, and the fourth Son of Destiny. If you have need of my aid, my lady, you need only sing out my name—sing it, not just speak it—and I will hear it and reply, wherever I am on the island.”

Kelly eyed him at that admission. “That sounds like a rather neat trick.”

He gave her a wry smile, dipping his blond head in a slight, seated bow. “I am something of the household herald in that regard. But then sound and song are my domain, as they have always been.
I
have no objections to helping you clean up the castle, for that matter. If you will lend your experience as a woman in directing us what should be tackled first in this pile of age-grimed stone, that is. I simply could not do it all on my own and freely admit I saw no need for any real effort to do so, save occasionally in the main rooms, when it was just my brothers and I who occupied this place.

“Now that we have a woman in the place…I confess I'm a little ashamed at our housekeeping skills,” Evanor admitted with more grace than his brothers seemed comfortable at hearing. “We have indeed degenerated from being truly civilized in the last three years, I'm afraid. So feel free to tell
me
what to do, and I'll make
them
do it, too. What would you recommend?”

“Dusting, cobwebs, and floors,” Kelly recited immediately. “The kitchen and this table need to be scrubbed spotless, all the ‘refreshing rooms,' as you call them, need to be scrubbed bottom to top, then tapestries, windows, and the surfaces of anything that isn't a floor. Bedding needs to be laundered, cushions beaten free of dust, and their covers washed. Every piece of splintering wood will have to be sanded and smoothed, all the curtains washed and mended or replaced, all of the sticking doors and stiff windows need to be planed so that they work smoothly, the hinges and handles oiled, and all the furniture polished.

“Plus the courtyards need to be weeded, paving stones as well as garden beds, the overgrown grass lawns cropped and neatened, the bushes and vines cut back to something less than a jungle state—as you can see, there are obviously
many
things to be done to make this place livable, and hopefully enjoyable.”

“And you think we will do these things for you willingly?” Dominor groused from his seat beside her.

“I have already made impressive headway on the rather grimy room your eldest brother stuffed me into,” Kelly pointed out. “And, I might remind you,
I
don't have magic to speed my efforts in each task. You have all been living far too long as bachelors, and it more than shows.” He didn't look convinced, and the others looked reluctant at best. She drew in a breath and smiled through her teeth. “Let me put it this way…if I have to stay for five more months before Morganen here can send me safely home, which do you think would be better, a couple weeks of cleaning, with your cooperation, or five whole months of me carping incessantly about how much the castle still needs cleaning?

“Hmm? No countering comments? I see you're finally showing some degree of wisdom. All right, who's next?” she added firmly, looking at the young man with the darker auburn hair than Trevan's copper-strawberry locks. The auburn-haired one introduced himself as soon as her gaze fell on him.

“I'm Koranen, Morganen's slightly elder twin. Nicknamed the Flame,” he added in the same ritualistic introduction the others had started. “Seventh of the family, and obviously associated with all forms of magic involving fire, whether directly or indirectly—I was the one who healed your burns when you first arrived. You were badly burned in several places, especially on your lower legs, but I could reverse all of it; the few remaining pink spots on your skin should fade within a couple more days, if you were worried about the marks lingering.”

Kelly shook her head. “I'm simply glad to be alive and in one piece. Pink spots aren't a major concern. Thank you, by the way. That was very kind and compassionate of you. Now,
you
are Morganen—”

“The Mage,” he agreed, smiling at her. “Strongest of all eight of us, magic-wise, though I'm the youngest in age. After seeing you make my brother there, ‘eat dirt,' as you put it, I hereby adamantly refuse to turn you into a toad. Or to allow anyone
else
to turn you into one,” he added, eyeing his older brothers pointedly before returning his gaze to Kelly's. “That looked rather…uncomfortable, what you did just now to Dom. I'd rather not test my arcane powers versus your extradimensional ones, firsthand.”