Authors: Dennis L. McKiernan
But Aiko was adamant, and Alos growled, “I’ll be glad when we’ve got what we’ve come for and all of you are on your way. Then I’ll do as I please.”
Aiko glared at him, and Alos ducked his head and snatched up a joint of beef. But ‘ere he could take a bite, Arin reached out and stopped him, saying, “Wait,” and gestured toward the throne.
On the dais, servants set a small table beside the queen. And they laded her trencher with the food of her choice. They also set a trencher down beside Consort Delon, and placed in it food at her direction. They poured wine into
golden goblets, and set one of these by Delon as well. Satisfied, the queen raised her chalice and called out, “Let us begin.”
A lord stepped forth onto the floor and raised his own goblet on high, proclaiming, “To the queen!”
To the queen!
came the response.
The queen stood. “Nay. Not to me, but to love instead.”
“Are they not the same?” called out the lord.
Baron Stolz hissed under his breath. “Bah! Toadying fool. Careful if he is not, next he will be.”
“To the queen and love,” called out the lord, raising his goblet on high.
To the queen and love!
came the response, followed by a cheer.
And at a sign from the simpering queen, all dug into their food…except for Delon, who only seemed to pick at his meal.
In through the doorway came three buffoons in garish makeup: the first one stepped across the amphitheater as if walking on an invisible tightrope high above the floor, his arms outstretched, his entire body wobbling and jerking this way and that as if for balance; the second buffoon walked to one side, half crouching and looking upward, his hands held out as if to catch the first should he fall; the third buffoon was enwrapped in a cloak and he walked to the left and behind the first. Just as they reached the center of the floor, the cloaked buffoon drew a slapstick out from beneath his cape and with a loud
crack!
whacked the rope walker on the behind, who, with a descending scream, staggered and spun and lurched to one side as if falling, while the catcher, with his arms outstretched, ran wobbling to save him, and they crashed into one another and collapsed in a heap as the crowd whooped in laughter, the cloaked buffoon roaring and laughing and pointing at his handiwork. Then the three buffoons began chasing one another ’round and ’round in a tight circle, one whaling away with an inflated pig’s bladder, one with a slapstick, and one merely whooping and howling and leaping each time he was whacked, his garish mouth gaping wide with his bawling. The guests roared at such farce, the queen herself pounding the arms
of her throne and hooting with joy. But purple-plumed Consort Delon merely smiled.
Finally, in file, they ran from the great hall, howling and whacking and battering. Resounding applause followed them out, and they popped back in to bow to the acclaim, only to be whacked at one and the same time by a very long slapstick wielded by a fourth garish buffoon as they bent low—to the delight of the crowd.
Next came a man and a woman juggling flaming batons, and they whirled and danced and flung the blazing wands back and forth, several in the air simultaneously.
They were followed in turn by wrestlers and acrobats and a strong man and other entertainers. At last, long into the night, Queen Gudrun the Comely ordered a halt to the proceedings and announced, “The time has come to hear Delon sing.”
As the table and remains of the meal were cleared away from the dais and a silver-stringed lute was brought to Delon, Baroness Stolz leaned across to an elderly lady and said, “I hear she found him in Thol while visiting the Tower of Gudwyn the Fair, an ancestor of hers, I believe.”
“Oh no, my dear,” responded the dowager, Lady Klatsch, “I believe he was taken in a raid in West Gelen.”
“Hmph,” harrumphed Baron Stolz. “Just a commoner he is told am I. To the castle he came two months past, advantage to take. Burned like the others he will be—serves him right—though longer than any of them he has lasted.”
Delon removed his tri-plumed lavender hat and set it on the steps. Then he took up the lute and strummed it once, gauging its state of tune. Satisfied, he turned to the queen. “Have you a request, milady?”
She leaned forward and smiled coyly. “’The Lovers.’”
Delon bowed. “As you will, my queen.”
Once again he sat at her feet, then he began to sing, his voice gentle when the words were gentle, and sweet when they were sweet, strong and vibrant as called for, and whispery at need. The guests all sat silent, no coughs, no rustle of movement, no shuffling of feet, as his singing filled the hall. And the queen sat transfixed, her eyes
drinking in the sight of him, her hands gripping the arms of the throne until her knuckles shone white, her breath coming in short gasps followed by prolonged sighs.
Arin leaned over and whispered to Egil, “If I knew not what my eyes saw, I would think him an Elf.”
Egil whispered back: “If I knew not what my eyes saw, I would think her making love in bed.”
Finally Delon’s song came to an end, and applause erupted and there were many calls for more. But abruptly the queen stood, her eyes shining brightly. “It is late and we are weary. Come, Delon.” And without another word, she swept down the steps of the dais and across the floor and out from the great hall, towing Delon on his silver chain after.
* * *
When Arin and the others returned to their room, they found that Dolph had turned down the beds and had opened the doors to the balcony, airing out the chamber. The September night was warm, and a half moon sank in the west, casting its light across the balustrade and into the room. Doffing their clothes, they prepared for sleep: Arin and Egil took to their bed, drawing the curtains closed; Aiko set her tatami mat to the floor and settled into cross-legged repose, her swords at hand, her back against the door; Alos glanced at her and, grumbling and huffing, lay down on his couch and pulled a thin cover over himself and fell instantly to sleep.
A quietness descended, the room silent but for the soft sonance of breathing. But then, drifting inward through the open balcony door, there came the distant sounds of someone, a female, in distress. Aiko’s eyes flew open and she listened…. No, not distress, but rather the hoarse panting groans of a woman in the throes of passion, moans of pleasure climbing and building, ending at last with a climactic shriek. Aiko stood and stepped to the balcony and peered down into the courtyard below. She could see no one in the moonlight and shadows. As she turned to go back in, movement caught at the corner of her eye, and there on the central tower and above, on the balcony to the queen’s bedchamber stood Delon. Even though he stood in gloom, Aiko knew it was he, for a
silver collar girded his neck and a silver chain arced down and into the black of the room behind. He was leaning on his hands on the railing, and his head hung down as if he were fatigued. He was unclothed.
Aiko slid back into the shadows of her balcony. She stood and watched. Of a sudden, the chain jerked once, twice, thrice. Wearily, Delon turned and plodded back into the queen’s bedroom.
Long moments later, gasps of pleasure began drifting down once again.
Muttering “Now I know what the mad monarch is mad for,” Aiko walked back to her tatami and resumed her lotus repose as the groans built toward a climax.
After a while, the moans began again…
…and again…
…and again.
Finally, growling,
“Tenti!
Is she never sated?” Aiko closed the balcony door, shutting away the sounds of unhindered lust.
I
n the candlemark before dawn, Egil began to moan in his sleep as another of his nightly ill dreams beset him; as if it were somehow contagious, Alos, too, began thrashing about…and
meep
ing. Aiko shook the oldster awake, and he raised up and looked about wildly, lost for a moment, but then with a groan he fell back onto the couch and pulled the cover over his head. In the canopied and curtained bed, Arin tried to awaken Egil, but could not until the flaying of Sturgi was complete. When sanity returned to Egil, he held onto Arin and wept and swore vengeance against Ordrune once the quest for the green stone was complete.
They settled back for what little remained of the night, yet when they finally awoke, the sun was well up in the sky.
Egil called for Dolph to help him prepare baths, and he and the lad filled tubs in the bathing cubicle and selected wood from the cord to build fires in the heating chambers underneath. As they were doing so, Egil said, “Dolph, we are going to need a rather large sack—something big enough to hold our rope and swords and drum and my axe and the other items we need for the act we are to put on for the queen. Do you think you can find us one.”
“A grain sack, sir, would do, ja?” Dolph spread his arms wide, some three to four feet.
“Have you something a bit larger?”
Dolph managed to shrug as he poured another bucket of water into one of the tubs. “Know do I not, sir. Try will I.”
Egil struck a spark and blew on the smoldering tinder to coax it into flame. He placed the shavings in the
heating chamber and added small strips of kindling. As he watched the fire grow, he asked, “Dolph, do you know Baron Steiger?”
“So I think, sir. The tall one he is, ja?”
“Yes, and he has black hair and dark blue eyes.”
“Seen him, sir, I believe I have.”
Now Egil began adding heavier kindling to the fire, and he moved some of the burning brands to the grille under the second bathtub and added wood there as well, saying, “Dolph, I’d like to speak with Baron Steiger. Will you find where he’s quartered?”
“Ja, sir, easy that will be. The chambermaids I will ask.”
“Well and good, Dolph. Well and good.”
* * *
When Aiko and Arin finished bathing, Egil and Alos took their turns, the old man yet swearing that too many baths would sicken a horse, much less a human being: “I mean, Hèl, boy, we could die of exposure.”
By the time they were finished, Dolph had returned with an assortment of grain sacks, one burlap bag clearly large enough to hold the peacock, though the lad knew it not. Egil thanked him, and Arin smiled at the youth, and he blushed and rushed away with the surplus, stammering to Egil that he would locate Baron Steiger now.
They broke their fast in midmorn and then took to the grounds again to see what they might have overlooked. The skies had grown dark with a cloudy overcast. Arin held a hand in the air, feeling the drift of the onshore wind, then pronounced, “Ere this day is done, rain will come.”
On they continued, committing the defenses of the citadel to memory. As they came into the eastern quadrant, someone hailed. It was Dolph, and they waited for him.
“Baron Steiger, sir, at the castle no longer he is.” Dolph jerked his head toward the stables on the southeastern side of the grounds. “Yestermorn rode he away, tell me the livery boys do. Hard. Some mad errand he was on. A remount he took. And back he has not yet come.”
“Hmm,” mused Egil. “I wonder…” He glanced at
Arin and Aiko and Alos, but all three turned up their hands and shrugged.
“Mayhap he will return ere we depart,” said Arin.
Egil took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then said, “One can only hope.” He turned to Dolph. “Thanks, lad. Have the stableboys let you know when the baron comes back, and keep an eye out for him yourself. Then come find me.”
“Sir, ja,” said Dolph, and he sped away toward the stables.
* * *
Under lowering skies they continued strolling the grounds. At one point, they stopped in the mews and Alos paused in conversation with the Jutlander who tended the raptors. In due time, the man bobbed his head and walked with Alos to a shed and stepped inside. After a moment the man emerged and handed Alos something. With a
“Danke,”
Alos bowed to the man, who seemed surprised at the gesture but bowed in kind, and then Alos rejoined his companions. When they were away from the mews, “Think these’ll fit the peacock?” he asked, showing them a shabby falconry hood and tattered jesses.
They strode on ’round the grounds, pausing at the kennels as if to admire the queen’s hunting dogs, but in truth they had stopped there to make certain that the raptor attendant was not following.
Then, casually, they strolled to the pond and found the peacock nearby, and laughed when the iridescent fowl turned a suspicious eye their way, as if it were expecting ill-mannered gibes to fall to the ground from their lips. But Arin cooed softly to it and the bird drew near enough for her to gauge that the raptor hood would fit rather well.
Aiko walked under a nearby tree, a tall maple, its leaves rustling in the growing breeze, and she studied the ground below. Spying what she had come to find, she moved somewhat to the side and then gazed upward. “This tree is his nightly roost, for here are his droppings, and there above, some twenty feet up, is a suitable perch.”
Egil glanced sidelong at the bird downslope and hissed, “Here we’ll come skulking in the black of the night when the moon has set. One of us will climb in the dark and
take the bird our prisoner, casting a hood over its head and tying it tight, then throwing the whole in a bag and lowering it to the others below.”
Karawah, karawah, karawah!
“Fie, he has discovered our plot,” Egil managed to gasp out between guffaws. “We are undone.”
Laughing, the four conspirators continued uphill, where they took rest on one of the marble benches scattered here and there upon the grounds.
Aiko sighed, then said, “Dara, I still do not see how a peacock can aid us to discover the green stone.”
Egil barked a laugh. “Perhaps he’ll think it an egg and try to hatch it.”
Arin smiled, then sobered. “Aiko, the ways of prophecies are mysterious. I, too, cannot see how a fowl can aid us. Yet I also do not see how
any
of us will fulfill the words of the rede. I merely know that we must go on…and trust to Adon that we will succeed.”
In that moment, great drops of rain began spattering down, and the four made a run for the castle, Arin easily in the lead, Alos gasping and wheezing and bringing up the rear.