At some unseen signal the long line of guards around me stopped and their spears thudded to the floor with a noise that sounded like doom.
Then a tall figure with a long black cloak walked past us, plumed and coroneted helm carried in his gloved right hand. For a moment I didn't recognize the Marquis; somewhere along the way he'd gotten rid of his anonymous clothing and was now clad in a long black battle tunic, Remalna's crowned sun stitched on its breast. At his side hung his sword; his hair was braided back. He passed by without so much as a glance at me. His eyes were slack lidded, his expression bored.
He stopped before a dais, on which was a throne made of carved wood--a piece of goldwood so beautifully veined with golds and reds and umbers it looked like fire--and bowed low.
I was tempted to try hopping on my one good foot in order to get a glimpse of the enemy on the throne, but I didn't--and a moment later was glad I hadn't, for I saw the flash of a ring as Galdran waved carelessly at the guards. The four in front promptly stepped to each side, affording a clear field of vision between the King and me. I saw a tall, massively built man whose girth was running to portliness. Long red hair with gems braided into it, large nose, large ears, high forehead, pale blue eyes. He wore a long, carefully cultivated mustache. His mouth stretched in a cruel smile.
"So you won your wager, Shevraeth, eh?" he said. The tone was jovial, but there was an ugly edge to the voice that scared me.
"As well, Your Majesty," the Marquis drawled. "The dirt, the stretches of boredom…really, had it taken two days more, I could not have supported it, much as I'd regret the damage to my reputation for reneging on a bet."
Galdran fingered his mustache, then waved at me. "Are you certain someone hasn't been making a game of you? That looks like a scullery wench."
"I assure you, Your Majesty, this is Lady Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth."
Galdran stepped down from his dais and came within about five paces of me, and looked me over from head to heels. The cruel smile widened. "I never expected much of that half-mad old man, but this is really rich!" He threw back his head and laughed.
And from all sides of the room laughter resounded up the walls, echoing from the rafters.
When it had died, Galdran said, "Cheer up, wench. You'll have your brother soon for company, and your heads will make a nice matched set over the palace gates." Once again he went off into laughter, and he gestured to the guards to take me away.
I opened my mouth to yell a parting insult but I was jerked to one side, which hurt my leg so much all I could do was gasp for breath. The echoes of the Court's laughter followed into the plain-walled corridor that the soldiers took me down, and then a heavy steel door slammed shut, and there was no sound beyond the marching of the guard and my own harsh breathing.
Then a tall figure with a long black cloak walked past us, plumed and coroneted helm carried in his gloved right hand. For a moment I didn't recognize the Marquis; somewhere along the way he'd gotten rid of his anonymous clothing and was now clad in a long black battle tunic, Remalna's crowned sun stitched on its breast. At his side hung his sword; his hair was braided back. He passed by without so much as a glance at me. His eyes were slack lidded, his expression bored.
He stopped before a dais, on which was a throne made of carved wood--a piece of goldwood so beautifully veined with golds and reds and umbers it looked like fire--and bowed low.
I was tempted to try hopping on my one good foot in order to get a glimpse of the enemy on the throne, but I didn't--and a moment later was glad I hadn't, for I saw the flash of a ring as Galdran waved carelessly at the guards. The four in front promptly stepped to each side, affording a clear field of vision between the King and me. I saw a tall, massively built man whose girth was running to portliness. Long red hair with gems braided into it, large nose, large ears, high forehead, pale blue eyes. He wore a long, carefully cultivated mustache. His mouth stretched in a cruel smile.
"So you won your wager, Shevraeth, eh?" he said. The tone was jovial, but there was an ugly edge to the voice that scared me.
"As well, Your Majesty," the Marquis drawled. "The dirt, the stretches of boredom…really, had it taken two days more, I could not have supported it, much as I'd regret the damage to my reputation for reneging on a bet."
Galdran fingered his mustache, then waved at me. "Are you certain someone hasn't been making a game of you? That looks like a scullery wench."
"I assure you, Your Majesty, this is Lady Meliara Astiar, Countess of Tlanth."
Galdran stepped down from his dais and came within about five paces of me, and looked me over from head to heels. The cruel smile widened. "I never expected much of that half-mad old man, but this is really rich!" He threw back his head and laughed.
And from all sides of the room laughter resounded up the walls, echoing from the rafters.
When it had died, Galdran said, "Cheer up, wench. You'll have your brother soon for company, and your heads will make a nice matched set over the palace gates." Once again he went off into laughter, and he gestured to the guards to take me away.
I opened my mouth to yell a parting insult but I was jerked to one side, which hurt my leg so much all I could do was gasp for breath. The echoes of the Court's laughter followed into the plain-walled corridor that the soldiers took me down, and then a heavy steel door slammed shut, and there was no sound beyond the marching of the guard and my own harsh breathing.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Crown Duel ]
www.QuoteSweet.com