The Ivory Star

Chapter 2

Tamarra watched in puzzlement as the men-at-arms carried the two unconscious strangers up the tower stairs. The house was abuzz with the news of her step-father's early morning excursion with a score of his best men-at-arms, and Brudge's terrible accident. Secretly she pitied the poor man, to dote on her stepfather so and then be abused at every turn. But she had to hide whatever feelings she had for the man behind a facade of very real loathing. A man so mistreated as he had been throughout his life, so desperate for the kindness of human contact, upon sensing any tender emotions, especially from one of the fairer sex, could only cause her trouble and embarrassment with undue, unwelcome attentions. But in spite of the pity she felt, she did detest him. Such an ugly, ill-mannered, foul-smelling, leering man could hardly have an equal.

Then one of the men-at-arms cursed under his breath as he accidentally dropped one of the strangers' shoulders, the dark-haired man's head clunking against the stone steps. Something terrible must have happened wherever they had gone earlier today, since only her stepfather and two of the men-at-arms had returned, and they were carrying two senseless strangers with them.

She watched Lord Sneev as he stepped into the great hall from the daylight, feeling her heart quicken with the thrill of the hunt at blood spattering his jupon. His eyes were downcast, darting nervously about the room. She smiled inwardly. Few things pleased her like discovering the machinations of the powerful, the secrets, the politics. She had little else to do, practically imprisoned in this lofty fortress for most of her life, the fate of the family of the most ruthless lord in the Four Lands, with the exception of the Master himself. Yes, Sneev's was the expression of a man hiding something, desperate to be in private. She tossed back her glossy waves of auburn hair, smoothed her gown, put on her best smile, and approached him. Her inward smile broadened at his grimace of dread when he noticed her.

"Fair morrow, daughter," Sneev said, his voice betraying his distaste for her conversation.

She gave him an uncharacteristic curtsey, "Fair morrow, my lord. I trust you had an ... adventurous morning."

"One could say so, now if you'll excuse me ..." He attempted to step around her and make his escape, but she moved almost imperceptibly to block his path.

"But who were those two strangers your men carried through here?" she asked innocently.

She saw the twin surges of pride and malice rise up in his gullet. She had done that so masterfully, if she thought so herself, but how he hated it being done to him! "Ah, merely two escaped slaves, my dear. Nothing more."

"Slaves? Taken to the tower, my lord?"

"Yes, yes, yes, my dear. Now, if I may, I have business to attend." He took a step around her.

"Of course, my lord." She moved aside, and watched him stride away as quickly as his stunted legs would carry him. Slaves, indeed! The tower room had been used only for storage for years. There must be something special about these men for her step-father to open up the tower room. Even more than the quest for knowledge of intrigue, she loved to irritate her stepfather, and that was something she had honed to keen edge. And if she could do both at once, so much the better!

* * *

Sneev stepped into the tower room, breathing heavily from the long climb up the steps. The two men lay motionless upon plain straw pallets hastily thrown down in the center of the circular room, framed by a brilliant square of white sunlight streaming in from the open window. He drew his poniard, tested the needle-sharp point with his finger, and approached them. So which one was it? He toyed with the point of his weapon as he considered. The burly, black-bearded one was the logical choice. He touched the point of the blade to the man's chest, against the strange silvery cloth that wrapped both of them so tightly but must have had several layers of thickness to it, and drew the point down toward the waist. The strange garment split neatly open, revealing the torso black with fur, and the thin line of blood welling from Sneev's cut. Such a fine specimen of manhood! Sneev's fingers and eyes searched through the thick, curly hair on the man's chest, seeking the birthmark that would seal this one's doom. But he had no birthmark! He searched again in bewilderment, then snorted in disgust.