“You’re not really sleeping, are you,” Blade said.
“No,” agreed Margrave Pereger, his fingers playing over the cat’s striped ribs. “Concentrating on something else is a good way of handling pain. As is meditating on nothing at all. I’m practicing.”
On cue, Blade’s wound itched again. Fantasizing about Diannah would take his mind off that ache, but doing so with her father nearby…? No.
Voices called, out in the courtyard. Blade heard hooves on cobbles, and the rattle of wagons. The exterior door opened. He couldn’t see out, from his position, but attendants and orderlies bustled in. Two men who’d been sitting up most of the day were assisted to rise and guided out of the room.
There goes our best voice, Blade thought. Most of the singers were more enthusiastic than talented.
The empty mats were replaced with fresh ones, and two new patients carried in.
“Axe! What happened to you?” Blade called out, recognizing the man on the lead stretcher as one of his own.
Axe’s leg was splinted between two branches.
“Havoc!” the man called back. “Lieutenant Talos took us out on your father’s orders. We followed a stream up from the river and a distance inland before leaving it.”
“Caltrops?” Blade asked, feeling sympathetic.
“Holes!” Axe barked. “Just big enough and deep enough to break a horse’s leg, covered in dead leaves. When we lost the first horse, I dismounted to grab a limb and sweep a way clear and stepped right into one myself!”
“Can’t take credit for it,” the black-haired lord said, still ‘practicing’. “I wasn’t giving the orders.”
Blade watched as the unconscious second patient was positioned carefully on one side so he wouldn’t vomit and choke. Despite both eyes being blackened and his nose badly swollen, Blade recognized a veteran in Cumbera’s Royal Guard.
“What happened to Cleaver?” he asked.
“The men liberated some barrels of Setigera Duchy’s finest as a gift for your father,” Sergeant Henders reported from the doorway. “Fortunately for him, the Guard sampled the vintage first. They spent the morning running from little blue men. Cleaver went face-first into a wall.” Dirk Alzarin’s fisk manuevered closer, to take a look at how his men were settled.
Blade had inherited his mother’s black hair and tan complection, and his father’s build. Uncle Henders was the opposite, but for being just as tall. Grey-eyed like Father, he had instead the lean, lithe form of the duelist he was. Even when in motion he had a stillness about him Blade admired. And he never reacted, no matter how provoking the king might become.
Uncle Henders was with Father in Mydicea. He’d know what ‘dyath’ means. But how to ask him?
Not now.
Satisfied, the sergeant turned to offer appropriate obeisance to Blade…and then to Pereger.
“More of the Rose’s work?” Uncle Henders asked the foreign lord.
“Most assuredly,” the margrave responded, watching.
To Blade’s ears the conversation sounded like one between old acquaintances.
“What should we be watching out for?” Uncle Henders inquired, casually.
“Anything,” the former guerilla said, smiling sadly.
“Right,” Henders concurred. “If she’d poison our wine--”
“I can’t predict what she’ll do,” Pereger interupted. “But permit me to point out: she didn’t poison your wine. She poisoned my wine.”
“Be that as it may,” Uncle Henders conceeded, his tone dry, “your girl did us a turn with that wine. His Highness is livid. The warrants on the twins have been amended enough times he’s having new ones printed. But he’s taking the rumors to heart, this time, and blaming the Rose. He’s doubled her bounty, raising it above her brother’s. One-hundred-fifty, gold.”
More than half what Havoc’s bount had been at its hight, two decades before.
“It was bound to happen.” Pereger sighed, and closed his eyes.
The veteran sergeant turned to leave, but paused. “His Highness has been prevailed upon to curb his ‘unscheduled inspections’ and run this campaign from the keep, where we can limit access of unknown persons.” He nodded abbreviated obeisance and, his mission accomplished, headed out of the room only to meet Caidrin coming in.
She acknowledded his obeisance, but her eyes were already sliding past to look for –
“No!” She dashed at Pereger.
The cat, taking alarm, sprang away.
“Oof!” gasped the margrave, nearly doubled-up from the sudden blow to the gut as the cat launched away.
“Oh!” Caidrin blurted, weakly, a sudden rose blush contrasting against the ivory of her chemise and the veil that hid her hair. “Are you well? He usually only does that when someone’s dying!”
“Eh. No,” said Pereger, leaning back against the mat, his hands pressed to his sore stomach. “It took a great deal of patience and effort to lure him over.”
Everyone looked at the cat, who glared reproachfully over his shoulder, tail lashing, then made his way purposefully out of the room.
“I don’t suppose it will work a second time,” Pereger added, regretfully.
Caidrin muttered an apology and, still blushing, went to tend her new patients.
A motion at the door drew Blade’s attention. It was Henders, leaving at last.
He saw that, and now he’s off to report to Father. Poor Caidrin. And this time Blade actually did feel sympathy for his cousin. She’d been as careful as Blade, himself, not to form attachments, but no one who’d heard that anguished ‘No!’ could have any doubt of her feelings.
And soon Father will know, too.
YOU ARE READING
Havoc's Daughters
FantasyThe legendary mercenary once caused the Cumberan invaders so much trouble they dubbed him ‘Havoc’. But twenty years have passed. Peace has transformed the mercenary into a respected Roenish lord who fights most of his battles in Court. Now th...
