Authors: Dennis L. McKiernan
Aiko shook her head. “It is Dara Arin’s vision we follow, not mine.”
Delon turned to the Dylvana. “Tell me what you seek. Tell me, too, why Lady Aiko calls me a rutting peacock, though I think I know the answer. And isn’t there some way we can get this blasted collar off my neck?”
* * *
“Ah, so that’s it,” said Delon in the late afternoon sun, the bard feeling much better now that his nausea had passed. “Well then, count me in. I can make a sweeping saga of it whether or no we succeed.”
“Hold still,” snapped Aiko, pressing and rocking the keen edge of her blade of steel against the remaining fastener of the silver collar. “I’m nearly through.”
tk
The blade clove through the last of the soft silver rivet and the collar fell free.
Delon took a deep breath and slowly let it out, then rubbed his neck all ’round and stretched it side to side. “Adon, but it’s good to be shed of that thing at last, and I thank you, Lady Aiko.” Laughing, he took up the collar and chain and bracelet and weighed them in his hands. “Paltry wages for what I was put through.”
Egil looked across at him. “Which was…?”
Delon glanced at Arin and Aiko, then said, “It was mine to keep her, um, satisfied.” He shook his head. “She was too much even for me.”
“Hah!” barked Alos. “Then how
did
you keep her content?”
Delon tilted his head and smiled wanly. “There is more than one way to pleasure a woman.”
Alos cackled aloud, then sobered and turned to Aiko. “I hope you haven’t made a mistake. I mean, we left the real peacock behind, and I don’t want to go back after him. And as to the rutting: he’s probably back there doing the ducks even as we speak.”
“Nay, Alos,” replied Aiko. “Fowl seem destined to remain true to their kind.”
“Then how did you know Delon, here, was the rutting peacock?”
Delon looked at her, smiling slightly, awaiting her answer.
Aiko shrugged. “The balcony was open to the queen’s bedroom, and she wasn’t silent in her copious and repeated indulgence. As to the peacock—”
“As to the peacock,” interjected Delon, holding out his arms wide and peering down at his clothes, “look at me. What else could I be but Gudrun’s peacock? As if I were one of her creatures on display, she garbed me in apparel so gaudy it’s a wonder no one went blind.” Delon nodded to Aiko. “Indeed, Lady Aiko, I
am
the mad monarch’s
rutting peacock—just one of hundreds, I understand—yet I am most grateful you set me free ere I met their fate.”
“How did you, um”—Alos grinned his gap-toothed smile—“come to serve her?”
Delon laughed and said, “I like this dirty old man.” Then his expression grew solemn. “As to how I came to serve her, well, I walked into it with my eyes wide open….”
* * *
Delon whistled as he disembarked from the Gelender ship making port in Königinstadt. If the rumors were true then he would soon be living in endless luxury as the queen’s favorite lover, of that he had no doubt. He would first make love to her with his eyes and his voice—
Delon fingered the amulet at his neck, given over to him by his father, Elon, who had gotten it from his own father, Galon, and so on back into the mists of time. Where the amulet had come from originally, none now living really knew, though ‘twas said that long past it was a gift from the Mage Kaldor for a service well performed. In any event it seemed to have the power to enhance the voice, and when coupled with bardish training, it made one sing like the Elves.
—and when she had accepted him, he would make love with his hands and lips and whispered endearments and his entire body. That he could pleasure her, Delon was certain, for he had spent much of the last fifteen years in the company of women, primarily in their beds, and he had yet to meet a woman he could not satisfy. And the rewards had been substantial: the best of foods and wines and added delectations of taste and olfaction, rich clothing, engaging books, small treasures and trinkets rare, and other delights throughout every day—oh, not necessarily physical pleasures, though they were considerable, but pleasures of the mind and spirit and heart and soul as well. And travel and adventure: these too were his to choose, though as of yet he had avoided anything strenuous, for he loved luxury too well. Certainly, there were times when he had to flee the comfort of a woman—when her father or brother or husband or betrothed came unexpectedly to her chamber—and there were times when he
had to fight his way clear, for he was skilled in the use of a rapier, though mostly he talked his way free. But on the whole he strayed from one place of comfort to another when his appetite for a particular locale or abode or woman waned. And from mansion to manor to estate to chateau to villa he drifted, seeking pleasure, seeking…he knew not what else.
Yet he had heard of the Jutlander queen who seemed to be searching for a lover. And since he had never bedded a queen before, much less one as rich as she, he thought to try his hand at this game as well. Oh certainly there were whispered rumors of lovers apast, as well as rumors of her strange penchants—unbelievable tales concerning dogs and horses and other beasts—yet he himself had had lovers aplenty, and his own inclinations were sometimes exceptional, and the tales cuckolded lovers spread concerning him were just as palpably false.
And so he came to Königinstadt with but a simple plan: to make love to the queen. Little did he know what he bargained for.
It took less than a week for him to be invited to sing before the queen, and less than a candlemark afterward she took him to her bed.
Completely exhausted by her recurrent demands, he slept as would the dead, and when he awoke he had a silver collar ’round his neck and a silver chain linked to the bracelet she wore.
Then, one night in the afterglow of lovemaking, in a whispered lover’s confidence, he discovered why she was called mad: she tenderly told him that her previous hundreds of paramours had been sacrificed one after another when they had ceased to satisfy. She had personally burned each one alive amid a glorious show of grief, Gudrun weeping and calling out her father’s name over and again as each of her fancy men screamed in agony while flesh was seared from bones and life was burnt away.
Yet at last she believed she had found her eternal lover, for surely Delon could and would see to her every carnal need.
Delon was horrified, and he nearly failed her at that
moment, but he knew of more than one way to pleasure a woman, to the queen’s delight.
As to Delon, his every need, his every want was catered to. Except for giving him his liberty, he could not have asked for more—food, wine, clothing, luxury, everything he desired. Yet he would have given it all simply to be free.
And he knew not how long he could continue to pleasure her to her satisfaction, how long he would continue to live.
* * *
“…then you four came and saved me.” Delon fell silent, his tale told, what there was of it.
Aiko growled, “Why didn’t you simply kill her and escape?”
Delon shook his head. “I don’t know. It seemed to me that I was powerless to do anything. I was simply her thrall.”
Arin frowned, then she looked at the chain and neckband dangling from Delon’s hands. She canted her head and attempted to
Delon touched the polished obsidian stone on its slender golden chain. “This one I’ll keep. But the other…?”
“Destroy it,” said Aiko.
Egil objected. “Nay. If it compels docility, we may ultimately have a use for it on our quest.”
Arin looked from one to the other but said nought.
* * *
Southerly they fared, angling slightly eastward, aiming for the Straits of Kistan. For twelve days they plied the ocean, moving into warmer waters. At times the wind was with them; at other times they had to tack into the breeze; at times it failed altogether for short periods. And it rained again on two of the days—stiff gusts blowing sweeping brooms of falling water across the rolling surface of the sea. And during this time they saw no evidence of Jutlander ships, though they did pass a Gelender ketch heading northward toward home, and a Gothonian packet
bearing westerly; neither ship came close enough to hail. Twelve days along this course they fared, and on the twelfth day a waning half moon fled before the sun across the sky. Night fell, and when mid of night came, in the confined space of the decking, Arin chanted and stepped out of the ancient Dylvana rite celebrating the autumnal equinox, Aiko matched her every move, Egil and Delon mirroring, and even Alos followed part of the way.
* * *
On the eve of the sixteenth day, they sighted the Straits of Kistan and maneuvered the
Brise
northeasterly, toward the shallow waters along the coast of Vancha. They hoped to hug the shoreline and escape the notice of the Rovers of Kistan, whether or not these pirates yet blocked the way. For if the Rovers still picketed the opening into the Avagon Sea, then a small sloop following the shoreline might slip past them unnoticed. But even if the Rovers’ blockade was broken, still the picaroons plied the straits, boarding ships, pillaging, raping, murdering, then hieing back to the safe havens of the jungle island of Kistan.
And so, through the gap and into the sapphirine waters of the Avagon Sea they fared, sailing the shallows of Vancha. Five days passed, and they saw none of the crimson lateen sails of the swift dhows of the Kistanian Rovers.
On the thirtieth day of September, in the noontide, they made port in Castilla on the southern flank of Vancha. As they sailed in among the ships anchored in the sheltered bay, they passed an Arbalinian craft, her hull blackened by the scars of fire, one of her masts broken, a hole in her hull near the waterline. Aboard this vessel, men labored to repair the damage and refit the ship. Some of these men were swathed in bandages.
“What ho?” cried Delon through cupped hands.
“Rovers” came the terse reply.
Delon turned. “It’s a wonder they survived.”
“No,” replied Egil. “The Rovers pillage and rape, and slay most of those who resist. Sometimes they take captives for ransom; sometimes they take the ships for ransom, too; sometimes they sink them out of spite; but on the whole they set badly damaged crafts free.”
“Oh?”
“Aye, so that they can be refitted and raided again.”
“Damn Rovers,” spat Alos, glancing back at the damaged ship now aft.
Egil stared aft as well and nodded in agreement. “Damned Rovers,” he echoed.
Arin fixed Egil with her hazel gaze. “Why dost thou curse them,
chier
? Is that not what Fjordlander raiders also do: pillage the property of others; mayhap rape the women of the conquered; slay most of those who resist; take captives for ransom; take property for ransom, too; at times destroy things out of spite; but on the whole leave enough behind so that in subsequent years, other raids can be just as successful?”
Egil looked at her, his one blue eye glittering. “Aye, love. I have done all those things you name, and perhaps others as well. But as I pledged on the heights of the fjord where I was born: I shall raid no more. Let it begin with me, I said, and so did I mean.”
Arin reached out and took his hand in hers and pulled him down beside her and kissed him. Egil smiled and stroked her hair and said, “But of course, that doesn’t mean I won’t steal a peacock now and again.”
Arin laughed. “Borrow,
chier,
borrow.”
* * *
Two days later, with the ship resupplied and with both Delon and Alos outfitted in clothing suitable for the sea—except for Delon’s iridescent belt with its large, ornate buckle, which the bard wore as a gaudy reminder of an ambition not well conceived—they set sail on the final leg to the city of Pendwyr, the
Brise
yet hugging the coastal waters of Vancha, for although the High King’s fleet had broken the blockade, Rovers yet plundered some ships plying the straits. In less than a sevenday they were well clear of the northern Straits of Kistan, and they set out on a northeasterly course, now faring across the indigo depths of the Avagon Sea. The wind held, though it rained now and then. Yet onward they sailed, the realms of Hoven and then Jugo unseen beyond the northern horizon.
Three weeks into October they fared through waters muddied by the vast outflow of the mighty River Argon
and by sundown they came upon the coast of Pellar. In the late candlemarks of the third day after, under starlit skies they sailed into Hile Bay, the harbor ringed ’round by sheer cliffs, towering upward a hundred feet. As they fared toward the anchorage, on the high precipice above twinkled the lights of a city, its buildings ranging along the lengthy, steep-sided headland sheltering the bay.
They had come to Pendwyr at last, the place where they hoped to find a ferret in a High King’s cage.
A
fter securing the
Brise
in a slip assigned by the harbormaster, Arin and her companions made their way up the steep cliff-side road to the headland above, Alos wheezing and complaining all the way, the old man stopping at intervals to rest and catch his wind.
“I should have stayed at one of the dockside inns,” Alos declared.
“Ha!” barked Aiko. “At a dockside tavern, you mean.”
Alos stuck out his chin. “Inn. Tavern. What do you care? You’ve no claim on me. When you get what you’ve come for and are on your way to who knows where, I’ll not be with you. I’m free at last and no longer part of this madness, dragging me over the oceans of the world and stealing peacocks and chopping off parts of queens. You’ve no claim, y’ hear?”
Aiko growled, but Arin sighed, and the old man would not meet her eyes. Delon hefted the oldster’s gear, and Egil said, “Let’s go.”
They came in among buildings of stone and tile and brick; the only wood in sight was that of brightly painted doors. They made their way into the city and, after asking about, procured rooms in the Blue Moon, an inn overlooking the bay below.