Curse it," Bran said the next morning, standing before the fire in shirt and trousers with his shoulder stiffy bandaged. "You think this necessary?"
He pointed at the mail coats lying on the table, their linked steel rings gleaming coldly in the light of two glowglobes. It was well before dawn. The Marquis had woken us himself, with the news that Galdran's forces were nigh. And his messengers had brought from Renselaeus the mail coats, newly made and expensive.
"Treachery--" Shevraeth paused to cough and to catch his breath. He, too, stood there in only shirt and trousers and boots, and I looked away quickly, embarrassed. "We should be prepared for treachery. It was his idea to send archers against you in the mountains. He will have them with him now." He coughed again, the rattling cough of a heavy cold.
I sighed. My own fever and aches had all settled into my throat, and my voice was gone.
Bran was the worst off. Besides the wound in his shoulder, he coughed, sneezed, and sounded hoarse. His eyes and nose watered constantly. Luckily the Renselaeus munificence extended to a besorceled handkerchief that stayed dry and clean despite its heavy use.
Groaning and wincing, Bran lifted his arm just high enough for a couple of equerries to slip the chain mail over his head. As it settled onto him, ing softly, he winced and said, "Feels like I've got a horse lying athwart my shoulders."
I picked up the one set aside for me and retreated to my room to put it on, and then the tunic they'd given me. Branaric's wallet containing Debegri's letter lay safe and snug in my waistband.
When I came back, Branaric started laughing. "A mouse in mail!" he said, pointing. He and Shevraeth both had battle tunics on, and swords belted at their sides; they looked formidable, whereas I felt I looked ridiculous. My mail shirt was the smallest of the three, but it was still much too large, and it bunched and folded beneath my already outsized tunic, making me feel like an overstuffed cushion.
But the Marquis said nothing at all as he indicated a table where a choice of weapons lay, with belts and baldrics of various sizes and styles. In silence I belted on a short sword similar to the one I'd thrown down in surrender above the Vesingrui fortress. I found a helm that fit pretty well over my braid coronet, and then I was ready.
Within a short time we were mounted on fresh chargers that were also armored. Despite the chill outside I started warm, for we'd each drunk an infusion of listerblossoms against illness.
Our way was lit by torches as we raced over the ancient road, under trees that had been old before my family first came to Tlanth. Except for the rhythm of hooves there was no sound, but I sensed that forest life was watching us.
He pointed at the mail coats lying on the table, their linked steel rings gleaming coldly in the light of two glowglobes. It was well before dawn. The Marquis had woken us himself, with the news that Galdran's forces were nigh. And his messengers had brought from Renselaeus the mail coats, newly made and expensive.
"Treachery--" Shevraeth paused to cough and to catch his breath. He, too, stood there in only shirt and trousers and boots, and I looked away quickly, embarrassed. "We should be prepared for treachery. It was his idea to send archers against you in the mountains. He will have them with him now." He coughed again, the rattling cough of a heavy cold.
I sighed. My own fever and aches had all settled into my throat, and my voice was gone.
Bran was the worst off. Besides the wound in his shoulder, he coughed, sneezed, and sounded hoarse. His eyes and nose watered constantly. Luckily the Renselaeus munificence extended to a besorceled handkerchief that stayed dry and clean despite its heavy use.
Groaning and wincing, Bran lifted his arm just high enough for a couple of equerries to slip the chain mail over his head. As it settled onto him, ing softly, he winced and said, "Feels like I've got a horse lying athwart my shoulders."
I picked up the one set aside for me and retreated to my room to put it on, and then the tunic they'd given me. Branaric's wallet containing Debegri's letter lay safe and snug in my waistband.
When I came back, Branaric started laughing. "A mouse in mail!" he said, pointing. He and Shevraeth both had battle tunics on, and swords belted at their sides; they looked formidable, whereas I felt I looked ridiculous. My mail shirt was the smallest of the three, but it was still much too large, and it bunched and folded beneath my already outsized tunic, making me feel like an overstuffed cushion.
But the Marquis said nothing at all as he indicated a table where a choice of weapons lay, with belts and baldrics of various sizes and styles. In silence I belted on a short sword similar to the one I'd thrown down in surrender above the Vesingrui fortress. I found a helm that fit pretty well over my braid coronet, and then I was ready.
Within a short time we were mounted on fresh chargers that were also armored. Despite the chill outside I started warm, for we'd each drunk an infusion of listerblossoms against illness.
Our way was lit by torches as we raced over the ancient road, under trees that had been old before my family first came to Tlanth. Except for the rhythm of hooves there was no sound, but I sensed that forest life was watching us.
( Sherwood Smith )
[ Crown Duel ]
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