"When you said hunting, you never mentioned hawks."
Erik examined his friend's pet with distaste.
"Come now Erik!" Alaric was laughing. "We are sidhe!
Falconry is in our blood."
"Find me a hound and I'll loose it. I'll not touch a
damn hawk." Erik dug his heels into his horse, causing it to
move sideways away from the bird. Alaric laughed again.
"Imagine, a big oaf like you afraid of such a beauty!"
Alaric admired the bird he held. He gave a half smile to
himself, then relented. "Fine, we'll go without the bird."
He was surprised to see a page already approaching when he
turned to call.
"Good boy! Take this bird back to the mews, then."
"Yes sir, but if it pleases you sir, I have a message,"
the childling spoke quickly as he relieved Alaric of the
hawk.
Erik and Alaric exchanged uneasy glances. "Yes boy,"
Alaric spoke, "What is it?"
"There is a visitor for Sir Erik, milords. He is
waiting now in milord's antechamber."
Thus, thought Erik, one hunt ends, and another shall
begin. He kicked his horse without word to his friend, and
galloped back to the castle.
Pushing through his door, Erik found a man he had never
seen before occupying his favorite chair in his own
antechamber. He closed the door behind him and headed to the
sideboard where his decanter lay. "Can I offer you a drink?"
he asked the stranger.
"Yes, please. I am sorry to intrude upon you without
notice, but I-"
Erik stopped him with a show of his hand. He took a sip
of his drink. "I have just come from hunting. Let us compose
ourselves before we lead into what has brought you here." He
handed the man another drink, then sat down across from him.
Erik was usually quite spartan. With his antechamber,
however, he took some luxuries. There was a beautifully
crafted fireplace set in the outside wall, for one. Several
rugs lay across the castle floor -- Cair ABE was not known
to be the warmest of homes. The crest of House Eiluned hung
above the mantel and several other trophies decorated the
room. Erik had his skills in diplomacy, and he knew the art
of posing. In his antechamber, where he often had meetings
with other nobles, it was important to display his colors.
"Tell me, my friend, where do you come from?"
"I am Ormond of Westhaven." Erik recognized neither the
name, nor the place. He could tell the man was an eshu, his
elongated features made that clear. His clothing was not as
flashy as was the usual trend of his kind, but it held hints
of outrageous color. His skin had just the slightest dark
tone to show a distant African heritage, otherwise he
appeared to be quite English. Apparently some slave had
gotten in trouble for dallying with the wrong damsel in this
man's heritage.
"I expect you know who I am, since you have traveled to
see me."
"Yes. You are Erik Mikelson, Knight of the Realm, and
Dauntain Hunter Extraodinaire."
A wry grin crossed Erik's face. This Ormond had the
tongue of the Eshu. "Then, what may I do for you?"
"I wish to hire your services."
"You are having problems with dauntain?"
"Perhaps. We cannot be sure."
"Then why do you seek me?"
"An old friend recommended your services. Perhaps you
remember, Fakir bin Ala'i?" Erik shook his head. "Well, it
was several years ago. Suffice it to say, in doing your
regular duties, you helped him escape undoing from a
terrible slave of Autumn."
"You have still not said what it is you wish of me."
"Nothing really. We need you only to watch."
"Who is `we?'"
"The court of Lady Wenhaver of Westhaven."
"Hath not the court eyes to see that which daylight
shalt never kiss?" Erik was being sarcastic, twisting an old
adage, "The court hath eyes where daylight cannot touch."
Erik could see the Eshu was not impressed, but he was
beginning to tire of this game, and this messenger didn't
seem quick to come to any point. "What is it precisely that
you are asking?"
"We are worried there will be an attempt on the life of
our Lady. Losing her would crumble the court of Westhaven.
She is favored of the commoners, but has lost nothing with
the nobles. Oh, there are some who do not treat her with the
respect she deserves for her openness in dealing with the
lower echelons, and there are also commoners who still count
her as one of the snotty nobles. These instances, however,
are extremely rare. In short, she is the soul of Westhaven.
Without her, old grievances would erupt almost instantly. We
cannot afford to loose this woman."
"So you want me as a bodyguard?" Erik stood and walked
back to the
sideboard. He refilled his cup, and offered the decanter to
Ormond, who politely declined.
"More or less."
"Then why not increase her retinue of trolls?"
"You see... it isn't that simple. We are quite sure
that there is some conspiracy brewing between certain
dissatisfied parties at court, and none of them would
concoct a plan so simple that brute force might could stop
it. Don't misunderstand me; I know a great many trolls with
intellect to match their brawn, but that is not for what one
usually considers a troll. Certainly skills at investigation
are not something any of the trolls we have are kept for. It
requires one such as yourself, a skilled detective, to
unravel what is afoot here. In fact, I thought it might be
preferable that the Lady of Westhaven not be informed of why
you would be at court."
Erik nodded slowly. That plan had its drawbacks, but in
this case he could see how the benefits could be more
numerous. If the Lady did not know who he was, could anyone
else? "How soon do you need me there?"
"As soon as possible, although I believe I can allow
you a few days to settle any affairs here. The end of this
week presents a ball at Westhaven. The Lady is fond of
celebrations."
Erik found it interesting how this Ormond was
considering what he could allow. Obviously, this eshu was no
stranger to the power of command. "Then I'll be in Westhaven
by the end of the week."
* * * * *
The palace of Westhaven was always breathtaking when
first seen, and Erik was not immune to its wonder. The white
walls rose high towards the Dreaming sun, creating a dazzle
before the great court that made it difficult to see exactly
where the walls were. Thus, the palace had an almost
ethereal air to it. Flags waved gently in a small breeze
from the castle palisades. Even from without, the soft
chords of music could be heard.
It was not a large structure, but it possessed the
presence of an indomitable will. This was, most likely, due
to its Lady and her own sense of will. From what Erik had
been able to learn of her, she ruled with a soft hand, but
an unquestioned one. She was respected, loved, and obeyed.
Erik felt easy as he approached the main door, and the
end of the
trod. Westhaven had a peaceful air to it, and he found
himself doubting the possibility that anything could be
wrong here. The knight at the door, greeting him warmly, did
nothing to challenge this perception.
"Good day, sir, and welcome to Westhaven!"
Erik bowed low from the waist, "Good day to you my
friend. May the
Dreaming keep you warm." He rose smiling.
"Can I ask your name and what brings you to Westhaven?"
"I am Sir Perival of the Golden Orchard. I have come
for the ball. I suspect many a wanderer will hope to find
his fancy there!" A jovial attitude seemed best for blending
into this place, and so Erik spoke with a twinkling eye as
he stroked his newly grown mustache and goatee.
"Then enter and be merry. The ball is a day away, but
guest rooms are prepared for all. The deluge of guests has
not begun, so you may be fortunate and obtain a private
room."
Fortune did smile upon Erik. His room was not large,
but it provided the privacy that he had hoped for. He did
not need to be up late at night with some drunkard from the
ball. As it was, he began the process of setting up his
rooms quickly. His clothes soon rested well in the dresser
that was supplied, and his writing book lay on the small
table beside the bed. His cape he threw across the bed, and
his traveling boots he changed for some soft shoes. He then
set about finding Ormond.
The eshu was not a hard man to find. Ormond, Erik
found, was a knight in the direct employ of an advisor of
Lady Wenhaver's. He had his own rooms within Westhaven, and
they were certainly nothing to complain about. Across every
surface lay a menagerie of trophies and treasures won
through adventure, fair play, and gambles. The recklessness
of an eshu did not appear Ormond's demeanor, but it was
clear in the things he chose to surround himself. "You have
nice rooms, Ormond," Erik said to him.
"Thank you, Erik. It is good to see that you have
arrived."
"In keeping with your plan of subterfuge, I have chosen
a pseudonym. I am Sir Perival."
Ormond nodded in approval. "Is there anything I can do
to aid you in starting your investigation?"
"Do you have anything for me to investigate? I thought
I was to watch?"
"True. I'm jumping ahead. I do not know how you should
conduct yourself. We have no leads."
"Surely there must be something for you to suspect that
the Lady's life is threatened in the first place?"
"Whispers. Rumors. As concrete evidence, there is very
little." Erik was beginning to feel he was wasting his time.
He sat down in one of Ormond's lush chairs.
"Then why have you bothered to call upon me? There are
always rumors," he replied in exasperation.
"Not with Lady Wenhaver." Ormond shook his hands in
irritation. "You do not know her, Erik - sorry, Perival. She
is loved by all. To hear any rumor that harm may come to her
is... incredible."
"But you do credit it?"
"It is credible for the fact that it is so incredible!"
"I'll leave that to the philosophers. As I have a day
or so before the ball, I plan to orient myself with this
place. So, if you have no other information?"
"Shall I call a page to give you a tour?"
"No, thank you. I prefer to do this alone."
Erik left Ormond and started his tour of Westhaven.
Richly detailed carpets lounged across the floors of the
hallways. Faerie lights danced on the torches that
illuminated the rooms with the brightness of midday, and
always the soft tones of music could be heard drifting from
some segment of the building. Occasionally, Erik met groups
of playful childlings, running through the halls or engaged
in some great game of make-believe. Alcoves were filled with
statues, paintings, or tapestries created both by fae and
human hands and telling of a life long lived who collected
art down through the years.
He found large libraries, and halls for music. Each and
every rooms was its own work of art. A sun room was located
at the top of a tower with a great glass roof. The sun
wandered in to comfort any who would rest with it like a
warm, dry bath. Finally, he found himself in the central
court room. The floor was of white polished marble,
reflecting the muraled ceiling that vaulted above it.
Columns lined each side of the room in an Atlasian effort to
support the great ceiling. The murals told stories of great
love and friendship found in the Dreaming; neither battle
nor sorrow was depicted. A small dais rose from the floor to
the foot of the throne. It was a simple seat. It did not
possess a wealth of jewels, nor was it carved from gold. It
was the chair of a humble ruler. Erik stepped up to it in
the empty court room and gently stroked the arm rests.
"It's a lovely chair, isn't it?" He turned at the sound
of the feminine voice.
"Boggan craftsmanship, if I'm not mistaken." The woman
was tall, sidhe, and very blonde. Her hair was long with two
braids spinning down her back amongst a stream of gold. She
wore a simple blue gown, accenting her ivory complexion.
She smiled, a smile that was almost blinding when
reflected by the polished marble. "You are wrong. It is of
human make."
"Then I am humbled." He grinned and walked towards her,
once more stroking his mustache and goatee. "My name is Sir
Perival."
She curtsied. "It is a pleasure to meet you, milord,"
Her voice contained a giggle. Erik's eyes narrowed slightly
as he wondered what was funny.
"The pleasure is mine, I am sure. I am here for the
ball; I trust you will be in attendance?" She smiled again
and brushed past him, going herself to stroke the arm of the
chair.
"Oh yes, I will be there."
There was something intriguing about this figure, so
graceful that it hardly seemed plausible she could be
material. "Are you a resident at Westhaven?"
She laughed, the sound of raindrops falling upon rose
petals. "I suppose you could say that." Turning she focused
a grin, almost impish, upon him. "I am Wenhaver, Lady of
Westhaven!"
Erik bowed, "Milady! I did not recognize you!"
"Up, Sir Perival! You have done nothing wrong. If there
is fault, it is mine for not introducing myself. You are
welcomed to my home only if you feel no shame for offenses
uncommitted. Westhaven is a place to rejoice and celebrate.
Dour expressions are not allowed." Erik couldn't help but
smile at Wenhaver. Her spirit was so light, so incredibly
pure, it gave the impression that misery was but a memory of
a forgotten age.
"Wenhaver," a new voice entered the room. It was
strong, masculine, and definitely trollish, so Erik was not
surprised to find it belonged to a blue skinned giant. If
Wenhaver glowed before, at the sight of the troll she burst
into flame.
"Colin!" like a young girl she ran into his arms. He
held her carefully, undoubtedly this was a man who could hug
a tree to death. When they released one another she
introduced Erik, "This is Sir Perival."
"Greetings, Sir Perival. I hope today finds you in good
health. I am Sir Colin."
"Greetings to you, Sir Colin. I hope your health is
likewise."
The troll smiled, which is never the pleasantest look
from a troll. One often needs to remind oneself that a
smiling troll is a good natured troll, and not a troll about
to bite your arm off. This is not such a difficult thing to
do after meeting a smiling redcap. "Please, call me Colin."
"Why were you looking for me, beloved?" Wenhaver asked.
"I am afraid a situation has arose. There was a fight
between one of the troll squires and a sidhe squire. The
troll was a Fjord Thunderstrike, one of my own students. The
sidhe was Evryn, one of Edwynn's kin."
Now a dark cloud passed across the Lady. It was
impossible to miss, especially for one who had been studying
her like Erik had. The name Edwynn was not welcome to her
ears. "I shall be along shortly, my husband," she spoke
quietly. Colin nodded and walked from the room.
"I did not realize you were married, milady."
She shrugged. "Officially, I am not. Sir Colin Oaksarm
and I will be wed come this May Day. Please excuse me, Sir
Perival. I have pressing matters to attend to." Erik gave a
slight bow, and she departed. It was strange, to his mind,
how Wenhaver could seem so innocent at one moment, yet it
was so obvious that she was a tempered soul, worked with
long hours over the coals to be a warrior and ruler alloyed
with a heart. He could not recall another quite like her.
The door to Ormond's chambers flew open as if buffeted
by a hurricane. "Why did you not mention Sir Colin Oaksarm
to me?" Erik stood in the passage, irritation clear upon his
face. Ormond stood near the center of the room where he had
been pacing while reading a book.
"A slight oversight, quickly realized. Certainly
something you discovered so quickly could not be of such
vital importance to remark upon at our first meeting?"
Erik entered the room and closed the door heavily
behind him. "The situation you described to me was one of
intense turmoil between the commoners and the nobles. That
fact considered, there are two possible outcomes to this
marriage. Either it will draw the two factions closer
together than ever, or a collision of Shakespearean
proportions will occur."
"Would she consider harming her land in such a way?"
"You tell me."
Ormond shrugged. "I doubt the wedding will take place."
Erik advanced upon him. Ormond had to remind himself
that, while Erik was renowned for his hunting ability, he
was cautioned against because of his swift temper. "What
cause have you for this belief?"
"Simply put, Wenhaver has ruled the land for some time
in peace. However, there is an upstart amongst the crowd."
"Edwynn."
"You are good." Erik had learned to pay little heed to
silver tongued comments from the eshu. "I believe he will
find some way to delay the wedding indefinitely. If the
problems worsen to such an extent that Wenhaver has to
recognize them as a continual problem, and not individual
skirmishes, she will not be able to marry Colin."
"I should find this Edwynn."
"Give it time, my friend," Ormond advised, placing his
hand upon Erik's shoulder. "At the ball tomorrow you shall
find all who you need to meet. For now, relax."
Erik did anything but. He left Ormond's room and paced
the halls of Westhaven in thought. There was something
already bothering him about this job. Eshu were praised for
their ability to tell a story. A wise elf knew that most of
what they said was a tale told for a fool's ears. The tales
do not end when the camp fire was put to rest, so the saying
went. He wasn't sure that Ormond was telling him anything
false, just that he wasn't telling him everything true.
As he walked he found the ever-present music had grown
louder. Erik rounded a corner and found a small sunlit room
with no furnishings except a small fountain resting in the
corner. Sitting upon the lip of the fountain's pool and
facing a glass window that looked at once out at the
Dreaming and the New York cityscape was a young, and very
nubile, satyr, her right profile facing him. She blew gently
on a small golden flute; a sad song, it reminded Erik of a
dirge. As it came to its keening end, she opened her eyes
and glanced at Erik. "Milord, it is not proper to sneak up
behind a young maid." Erik could see the slight traces of a
smile even from his angle of her profile. Her hair was a
deep auburn. It reminded Erik of a distant memory of fields
aflame in a midnight, moonless sky. It was short, cropped to
curl round her ears, but not hide them. She wore a simple
short-sleeved leather tunic of a deep brown to compliment
her hair. A bandolier of pouches crossed from her left
shoulder and over the slight swell of her breasts to her
right thigh. From the way she sat, Erik could not tell what
she wore to cover her nether regions, although it was
obviously something to give her somehow still feminine goat
legs the greatest area of movement. Her skin tone was
slightly reddish, to match her hair. She held an exotic
beauty that hypnotized Erik as though held by a cantrip.
Still, he did manage to find his voice.
"I do not need to even attempt to ken to tell you are
not young, and I have yet to meet a maiden satyr."
She smiled to herself, and crossed her legs. She played
a few bars of the dirge, then spoke again. "I do not know
you, milord, and I know all the residents of Westhaven.
Therefore I deduce that you are a traveler. What might be
your name, and from whence do you come?"
"I come from the Golden Orchard. My name is Sir
Perival."
"The Golden Orchard? I have heard the name. It is a
small freehold near the throne of Queen Mab. Are you a
relation of hers? I understand many of her relations visit
the Orchard."
"No, I am but a knight luckily enough to reside there.
After all, it needs its own permanent staff as any freehold.
Can I ask your name, milady?" He decided now was a good time
to change the subject. Erik had hoped the Golden Orchard
would be small enough to be unknown to any of the residents.
He hoped this satyr did not know all of the residents of the
Orchard as she ostensibly did Westhaven.
"My name is Kira. I am the Seneschal of these lands,"
she spoke as she stood and held out her hand, which Erik
stooped to kiss. With her now facing him, he could see she
wore merely a loincloth, in front and back, to cover
herself. Curiously, it was patterned with some tartan. A
belt crossed her midsection, and a sporran drooped from
there. Erik knew well the purpose of a sporran. He also knew
the usual uniform of dress that went with a kilt, and could
not help but wonder if it applied in this instance.
"It is a pleasure, and an honor to meet you, Lady
Kira."
She laughed, throwing her head back with her hilarity.
"I have not been called a lady in some years, and I can
think of many more pleasurable temptations, if pleasure is
what you seek. But I am curious, this part of Westhaven
holds little for a traveler's concern. What were you about,
if I may be so bold?"
Erik smiled inwardly. She had the senses of a
seneschal, that was certain. "I was merely lost in my own
thoughts. I suppose I was drawn by the music."
"That is a line I have heard all too often. If you wish
to learn more of the pleasure on which I spoke, you'll have
to do better, milord." She smiled at him and sashayed down
the corridor, making Erik's eyes follow. Erik walked towards
the window and watched as the last few rays of the setting
sun fell below the skyline.
The night passed with a deep, dreamless sleep, and the
next day in quiet repose awaiting the ball. Erik tried
several times to convince himself he should continue his
investigation, but each time Ormond's advice to wait for the
ball would ease him back into his chair. He had his meals
brought to his room, and spent most of the time working on
his book on Dauntain ecology. Eventually he had to prepare
for the ball, and so he selected his finest shirt and pants,
both a light reddish brown. The flared sleeves would
sometimes itch, but after a lifetime of these events, Erik
was used to such inconveniences. He washed, brushed,
perfumed, and nearly shaved, catching himself from removing
his newly acquired facial hair at the last moment.
Through the halls he could hear the arrival of other
guests. New York city was large, and it appeared that
Wenhaver had invited many of the fae who dwelt there.
Shortly before the official commencement of the ball, Ormond
entered Erik's rooms.
"The ball is near to starting. I hope you are ready,"
Ormond said as he closed the door.
Erik came from his bathroom and stood before his
employer. "Is there anything I should be aware of before we
enter?"
"Not that I can think of. I'll be able to provide you
with the names of any whom you meet, although I fear I will
not always be by your side. I'll be up far after the ball
has ended, if you wish to speak then. Otherwise, we can wait
till the morning."
Erik nodded and walked to the door, opening it for
Ormond and following the eshu into the hallway. As they
walked towards the Audience chamber, Erik asked, "What is
the date today?"
"April twenty-eighth. The ball is to welcome the last
of the wedding guests." Three days till the wedding day.
That did not leave long for something to stall the wedding.
Walking into the Audience Chamber was like entering a
rising sun. Light burst forth from every corner, every
alcove, and every overhang. Torches, candles, and colored
electric lights all gave their strength to the glow that
filled the room to overflow. Sound and color melded with the
euphony of seelie celebration, wrapping the guests in an
envelope of joy and good cheer. Erik was carried away on the
wave of excitement, finding himself dancing to the tunes of
a merry band from the old country. Presently a jig was
struck upon the guitars of the band, and a goat legged
dancer took the stage to lead all the celebrants. Clapping
of hands and feet threatened to drown the melody of the
musicians such was the passion of the attendants. Erik
recognized the dancer as the satyr he had talked to earlier,
Kira.
Soon the song was over, and another began. He was swept
along in the passion of the crowd, losing sight of the
dancing goat. Erik had partner after partner as the ball
progressed long into the night. Slowly it began to wind
down, the band easing the ebbing passion of its audience
with slower tunes. Erik was working his way to the edge of
the room when a hand was laid upon his arm. "Do your feet
tire already, milord? or would you dance with me?" He turned
to face Lady Kira, a crooked smile upon her lips and a scent
of mischief about her. He took her hand in his and the
returned to the dance floor, weaving to the old rhythm
radiating from the flutes and strings. Her eyes, which he
fell into, were a russet brown, flecked with yellow spots.
"Must dancing be such a serious thing that you cannot smile,
Sir Perival?" she chided him for his serious demeanor. He
was already far past the dance floor in his mind.
Erik's head jerked back suddenly. The hairs at the base
of his neck rose and his fingernails chilled. Someone had
just brushed past him, and the putrid odor of banality was
strong with them. Erik stopped in midstep to scan the room.
His prey was already lost in the sea of dancers, but he
could still smell the trail, and he knew what the stench was
from. "Cold Iron," he whispered.
"Perival?" Kira reached towards him, knowing something
was not right. He slid between a pair of dancers and was
swallowed again.
Erik swam his way through the crowd, following the
fetid scent, but never laying sight of his prey. Finally he
broke through the undulating waves to stand before the
throne. There Wenhaver sat in her throne, Colin stolidly
standing beside her. Erik realized that Colin would probably
not have his own throne until the marriage was officially
conducted, so for now he was Wenhaver's personal guard. She
was smiling and chatting with her darling man; glowing
brighter than all the lights in the room, making them seem
like blackness by comparison. Her laugh slipped from her
lips to join the music of the minstrel's like a melody on
the wind. She glanced down towards Erik.
And she saw his dour expression. She saw, for just a
moment, the hunter before her. Her smile faded, to be
replaced with the mask of a warrior and ruler.
Erik looked to his right. Standing in the corner he saw
a tall sidhe focused intently on Wenhaver. The man had
neatly trimmed brown hair. He wore his expensive clothing
with an air of pride. The meticulousness of his person was
apparent, no where was there a hair, string or nail out of
place. Erik could tell he was a man of black and white
values.
And that he was not Erik's prey.
Looking to his left, Erik saw a small door leading off
from the Audience Chamber. He believed it was the same one
through which he had first entered the room. He walked with
a slightly hurried pace towards the
exit, and left the room.
Colin made a small comment, and Wenhaver's good humor
returned.
Erik could still sense his prey always a corner too far
away. He followed the scent to a large oaken door. From his
earlier tour, he knew the door opened into a small reading
room, with another exit or two leading out. He heard the
lock click just as he was about to enter. Erik knelt down at
the key hole, but he could see little beside the fabric of a
black cloak. He pressed his ear to the wood.
"You have brought the knife?" the speaker had an odd
voice, as though speaking was not an easy thing. It carried
the sounds of grinding rocks with its intonation. There was
no answer to the question, but when the speaker continued,
Erik assumed whoever else must be in the room communicated
an affirmative through a nod of some sort. "Good. I shall
pass it along to my accomplice quickly. The deed will take
place before the wedding, but not tonight. This is a
carefully planned operation, my friend. If any action is
taken too quickly, more of the truth than is necessary may
come out." A period ensued in which Erik could tell another
was speaking, but could not make out the voice, then the
first continued, "I have the perfect plan for that. Examine
this," Erik returned to the keyhole, but again his vision
was blocked by the cape. "Merely a sedative, known as the
ti‚de somme, or Warm Sleep. It requires a small amount of
heat to work. Apply it to your skin and it will do nothing.
However, if that portion is irritated, you would fall into a
deep sleep. Applied in specific ways, it can be very useful.
Give this to the girl. I'm sure she'll make good use of it."
Erik heard another door in the room open, and then close.
The conversation had moved on.
Erik paced back and forth in Ormond's chambers in
frustration the next morning. Ormond watched from his chair.
"So, you know there is an iron blade on the premises and
that a man with a strange voice and a black cape is planning
something with it. It's a start." Erik knew Ormond was
trying to lighten his mood, but it wasn't helping.
"It's nothing! I bet half this freehold owns a black
cape!" Erik retorted.
"True. However, there is not one who is outstanding in
my mind for their voice. What did you say it was like?"
"Like he was gargling."
"Perhaps he just has a fetish for mouthwash." Erik
glared at Ormond. Ormond shrugged. "Come, my friend. Let us
break fast, and then we'll return our minds to these
problems."
So the two fae left Ormond's room to enter the Audience
Chamber once more. A large breakfast buffet had been laid
out for all the guests to refresh themselves. Ormond ate
heartily while Erik picked at his meal. He examined the
others who had gathered. Several of them wore dark clothing.
The sidhe that Erik had seen the night before arrived.
Erik nodded towards him, and asked Ormond who he was. "His
name is Edwynn. He's been a knight here for some time. I
believe he returned with Wenhaver during the Resurgence. I
also understand he did not approve of the velvet hand that
she used to deal with the commoners," Ormond replied.
Presently two figures met him, an eshu and another
sidhe. It was the eshu however, who did the talking. "Who
are they?" Erik asked.
Ormond squinted at the two figures. "The sidhe is named
Balthazar. He is an errant of these parts. Typically known
as bad news. However, he does have a great deal of knowledge
about desserts, so against the advice of her peers, Wenhaver
has him here to help with the catering. He is also mute. The
eshu is his translator."
"I do not see him making any signs," Erik stated of
Balthazar.
"It is said that he shares a mental link with his
assistant. It is also said he lost his voice due to dark
sorcery." The conversation with the trio broke up with
Edwynn marching out of the room through one of the smaller
exits. Balthazar and his companion took their seats.
"I'll be back," Erik said, and left the table.
He followed Edwynn to Wenhaver's own chambers. The
passionate sidhe burst into his Lady's rooms without closing
the door behind him. Erik had no complaints about this. It
made it easy to listen in.
"What is this madness, Wenhaver? I return yesterday to
find Westhaven overflowing and one of my kinsmen on trial
for disciplining a commoner, now I hear you plan a wedding!"
The voice was definitely not the one from the night before,
although this did not really surprise Erik.
Wenhaver sighed, "You heard before you left that I was
being married."
"I heard the court gossip, but could grant it more
credence How could you possible consider marriage to that
unseemly oaf?"
"Colin is not -!" she caught herself mid exclamation
and took a moment for to recompose before continuing. "You
are a knight, Sir Edwynn, and as such you shall retain a
certain amount of respect. This you shall also grant to
others. You do not give my husband this simple decency. I
will ask you to leave my presence until you deem fit to
grant him this."
"I swear Wenhaver, this wedding will not take place. I
only hope you come to your senses." Erik ducked into an
alcove as the impassioned sidhe left Wenhaver's room. He was
about to follow Edwynn further when he heard another voice.
"The path of tolerance is never an easy one, Winnie."
It was a masculine voice, that much Erik could tell. He
dared not look into the room for fear of discovery.
"Oh! I didn't hear you come in," Wenhaver's surprise
could be heard. The smile that greeted it was almost audible
as well.
"My ability to come and go has kept me alive many times
when I would have otherwise died, but tell me, how are you
sleeping now?"
There was a long pause before Wenhaver answered. "Not
well. I am having visions. My dear friend, I am worried. I
feel that -"
"Hush now child. Put such thoughts from your mind. I
can tell you, things will work out for the best."
"I hope you are right -- but Edwynn is so much worse
these days. His intolerance is growing, and once we were
such good friends."
"Good friends are the worst enemies." Whoever the man
was, Erik could tell he wasn't necessarily the best for
giving comfort. "Now then, you have something for me?"
"Yes. Let me get it." Erik listened as Wenhaver
rummaged through something and pulled out the object of her
search. "Take this. If I -anything happens, it will allow
the bearer to claim property to Westhaven. I'd feel safer
knowing that you protected it."
"You can trust me, Winnie. For now I must go. I will
return for the wedding." Silence ensued, and when Erik heard
Wenhaver moving through her rooms again, he left his post.
"You know, Erik, this would help a lot more if you
could ever catch sight of a face."
Erik turned on his heal to face Ormond. "Perhaps you
think you could do better? If you are finished with my
services, I shall take my leave!" he spat.
"No, please," Ormond rose from his chair. He wished
Erik could learn to sit instead of constantly pacing in such
an agitating manner. "I did not mean to complain about your
performance. It just must be aggravating for you."
Erik snorted.
"Besides, I thought you were sure Edwynn wasn't the one
with the iron blade."
"It is a wonder you have survived so long at a court,
my friend. He wasn't when I first felt it. He would, to all
appearances, make a perfect pawn."
"I think you are searching too deep for a conspiracy."
"One might almost think you were trying to keep me off
the scent." Erik stormed from the room. He wandered the
halls angrily. Even if Edwynn were to be a pawn in this
game, he still did not know who the manipulator was, or the
motive. He only had a voice to go on, one that nobody else
seemed to have heard. He was beginning to remember why he
hated being at court so much.
Rounding a corner, he walked right into someone. "Why
don't you watch where you're going!" he snapped. Looking
down, he saw Wenhaver, slightly cowering before this sudden
outburst. "Milady! I am sorry." He bowed to her in apology.
Wenhaver composed herself. "Do not worry, Sir Perival.
Such things can happen. It would appear we were both lost in
thought somewhere. Can I ask what has upset you so? It
displeases me to think anyone at Westhaven could be
unhappy."
"Simply a matter of personal problems. It need not
concern you, milady. I am sorry to have troubled you." He
bowed again, and continued along his way.
Wenhaver watched after him till he rounded another
corner, then shook her head and continued along her own way.
She walked out to a small terraced garden. Hanging baskets
contained roses, lilies, and tulips, as well as more bizarre
buds found only within the dreaming. Some had thorns and
rainbow hued petals. Others were thin and dainty, but glowed
with a strange phosphorous light. A few crawled along the
railing of the terrace as though seeking their homeland.
Kira stood there, tickling the bud of one strange flower
that sang sweetly in the midday sun.
"Perhaps when I have daughters they will help me expand
this garden," Wenhaver said in her daydreaming voice.
"How are you today?" Kira turned to her old friend,
smiling brightly. As the wedding drew nearer, Wenhaver was
acting more and more like a schoolgirl, and less like the
warrior she was known to be.
She sighed, "Honestly, I am tired. Yet I feel like I
could dance for hours!" She pirouetted as she spoke, and
several sea blue flowers dropped to touch her cheeks.
Kira grinned. "Well, I hope that energy holds out for
the rehearsal today, and we have to do the final few
fittings on your gown."
Wenhaver pouted. "They've taken my measurements enough
to make twenty gowns. I'd much rather spend this time with
my husband."
Kira wished Wenhaver knew how unpleasant dealing with
that strange caterer was. "Now now," Kira chided, "that day
will be soon enough. Which reminds me, I also need to give
you a few pointers for your wedding night."
Wenhaver gasped, "You wicked girl!" The two giggled and
Wenhaver chased her old friend through the halls of
Westhaven in mock anger.
At the end of the night, Kira slowly made her way back
to her rooms. As she was opening her door, she heard a
friendly voice call her name, "Kira! For a satyr, you look
exhausted." She turned and smiled at the speaker, Ormond.
"What can I do for you so late this night, Ormond?"
"I was simply on my way to my own rooms, milady. I am
glad, however, that we met. I haven't had a chance to say
hello since I returned to Westhaven after my last
excursion."
"I am sure all of Westhaven is glad to have you back,"
this wasn't necessarily true for her. She never liked
Ormond. Too smooth for her tastes.
"I have something for you. I met a man on my last
journey who had recently come from the East," h reached into
his pocket and produced a short cylindrical tube which he
gave to Kira.
"What is it?" she asked as she took the top off.
"Merely some lipstick. I think, however, the glamour in
this should suit your satyr nature."
"Thank you, Ormond. You are a true friend." Kira
entered her room and closed the door behind her, tossing the
lipstick down on a nearby table. She was tired and not ready
to listen to kith prejudice. Sure, she could be as sexual as
the next satyr when she wanted, but she didn't appreciate
being known for that quality. Anyway, Ormond could be as
long winded as the next eshu, and she often wondered how
balloon-like he'd appear when confronted with a sharp pin.
At least the lipstick color didn't seem half bad. She
would try it the day before the wedding, and hope it would
suit her.
Erik lay awake long into the night. The day hand turned
up nothing more. Perhaps he could warn someone about the
possible danger from Edwynn,but he would prefer to know
something more -- at least to know Edwynn was a definite
danger. He tossed in his bed. Tomorrow would be the final
day before the wedding. If anything was to prevent the
event, it would happen then.
He heard footsteps outside his room. Damn it, he
thought, if everyone's going to be pacing the halls, how am
I supposed to sleep. Then he heard the clicking of a lock.
Eriksat up in his bed and threw himself from the sheets. The
door was as he thought: locked. This was easily fixed. So
easily fixed, in fact, that he wondered why his doors had
been locked in the first place. He went to his bedside table
and picked his knife. Cutting his hand, he used his blood to
draw a smaller door upon the regular door. He pushed on his
drawing and it opened easily, with a slight amount of
glamour. Stepping into the hallway, Erik closed the "door"
behind him.
He looked both ways, but could see neither hide nor
hair of the one who had locked his door. He tried to
recollect which way the footsteps had gone, cursing himself
for not paying more attention. On a hunch, he set off to the
left. Quickly he found the one he was chasing, and kept a
short distance from him at all times. It was the same man
who he had followed the previous night, wearing the same
black cloak, with a hood pulled up over his head. Erik was
tempted to run up and pull away the hood, but he knew this
would not accomplish much right now.
The man walked through Westhaven to the same library.
Once more the door was locked by the time Erik reached it.
He sighed, and pressed his ear to the wood again.
"She has been given the poison?" Again, it was the same
gravely voice. After a pause, it spoke again. "Good.
Tomorrow she will take care of our one adversary. Then
Wenhaver shall fall. The murderer shall be outcast, and the
estate will be ours."
There was a period of mumbling from the other man in
the room, Erik believed it to be the one he had been
following. He caught the word seneschal, but little else.
The odd voice answered, "She will be easily manipulated,
much more so than Wenhaver. Her passions ride high as any
satyr's, no matter what she wishes others to think. I have
the means to control those passions. If there comes a time
when anything else comes to light, she will be shown as an
accessory to murder, and who would want such an awful person
to rule their land?"
Erik strained to hear more, but could not. Assuming
they had left the room once more, Erik once more summoned
his glamour and used his bleeding hand to draw another door.
He stepped through into the library. Two door led off, and
he exited through the one that was open. Not far ahead he
heard footsteps. He quickened his pace and found the black
cloaked man ahead. Quietly Erik hurried up behind him and
grabbed his arm to spin him around. The man spun, and
carried his arm against Erik's head, hitting him near the
ear. Erik was slammed hard against the wall, his ears
ringing. He thought he heard someone speak. Slowly Erik
turned his head. He was dizzy, and his vision swam. The
cloaked man was nowhere to be seen.
The next day, Erik stumbled into Ormond's room. His
ears were still ringing, and occasionally he had troubles
with his balance. Ormond was being attended by a boggan
tailor in preparation for the coming wedding. "Erik!" Ormond
exclaimed at Erik's obvious condition, "You did not sleep
well last night, it would seem!"
"I heard them again," he muttered as he fell heavily
into one of Ormond's chairs.
"Heard who?" Ormond did not appear in the best of moods
to listen to one of Erik's reports. He bent and gave the
boggan a few instructions.
"The man with the strange voice and his cloaked ally."
"Did you see them?"
Erik shook his head. "I chased the cloaked man, but he
blind-sided me. Before I knew it, he cast a Veiled Eyes
cantrip and was gone."
"Do you know anything more than you did yesterday?"
Erik shook his head in a negative response. "Only that
they do plan to do something today. I'll stay close to
Wenhaver." He stood up and walked back towards the door,
rocking in an alarming manner.
"Erik -- excuse me," Ormond walked away from the
boggan. "Erik, you look awful. Get some rest. I will inform
the guard that we have serious cause to believe harm may
come to Lady Wenhaver, and I'll have them double their
shifts."
Erik spun, and almost fell. "I thought you said the
trolls were incompetent for this. I will do as I plan,
Ormond. You worry about my payment!" He turned, collided
with the doorjamb, and managed his way out of the room. Erik
fell against the wall beside the doorway. He felt terrible.
The punch he received last night must have severely damaged
his ear. He only hoped a Heather Balm could cure it. Erik
moved to shut the door when he heard the boggan exclaim,
"Milord, what is this blood on your cape?"
Erik looked down at his scabbed hand. It was the hand
he had grabbed the cloaked man with the night before.
"Ormond...," he whispered. Through the ringing of his ears,
things began to make sense. With a bad stagger, he tried to
run through the halls. He needed to warn Wenhaver. He loped
through the halls as though in a drunken stupor. He wasn't
even aware of where he was going, although he believed it
was in the direction of the Audience Chamber. Erik fell
first against one wall, then against the next. His breathing
was becoming ragged as his vision began to swim worse.
Finally he fell towards the floor.
A pair of strong arms caught him. He felt them drag him
down the hall. A voice swam through his consciousness. "What
the hell happened to him?" it asked.
"He just fell into my arms. Perhaps you should take
watch him for a few moments. I'll get a servant to take him
to his room." He heard the words, but they made no sense.
"Balthazar hopes you enjoy the desserts he has left you
with. Let us know if any are unsatisfactory, and we will
replace them before the reception." Erik was placed upon a
soft sofa. Slowly his senses were coming back.
Kira looked at the knight who had been deposited on her
sofa. She stroked his forehead and sighed. Going to her
dresser, she drew forth a packet of herbs. All the while,
Erik lay muttering incomprehensibly. She returned to his
side, stopping to try a piece of the cake Balthazar had left
her with. It had a strange taste, reminiscent of cinnamon,
or perhaps some root.
Crushing the herbs in her hand, Kira rubbed them
against Erik's forehead. It would not take long for the
cantrip to take effect. In the meantime she sampled more
desserts. The cake she found to be her favorite. She watched
Erik tossing restlessly as the Heather Balm began to heal
him. She began to notice how nice his dark hair seemed, and
to wonder what it would feel like against her skin. He had
not shaved today, and Kira caught herself imagining his
rough whiskers against her belly. She shook her head as he
moaned. This was no time for such idle thoughts.
Erik moaned and his eyes fluttered open. He tried to
sit up, but fell down against the cushions again. "Where am
I?" he whispered.
"In my rooms, Perival. Are you feeling better?" Kira
moved to his side. When he turned, she could feel his warm
breath drifting to her cheek. The hairs on her legs were
beginning to stand on end, and she knew what trouble that
meant.
"How did I get here?"
"You fell unconscious and Balthazar found you. His
servant brought you here."
"I was looking...." He looked into her eyes, and his
confusion was shown in great detail. She felt sorry for him,
and she wanted to make him feel better. His hand drifted
over hers and it sent little electric shocks up her arm. She
gasped slightly, gazing into his dark eyes.
"Tell me, Perival, are you prepared for the Beltane
celebrations?"
Erik furrowed his brow, confused at the sudden change
of topic. "What?"
"This is Beltane eve," Kira lowered his face closer to
his. "Tomorrow is Beltane. Are you ready, or do you think
you could use some practice?" She was inches away from his
pointed ears when she finished. Slowly she slid overtop of
him. Her sense of control was gone. Something had given her
over to her goat passion, and Erik would be great to help
her cure it.
Erik looked up at her, his head still slightly
swimming, although it was much better now. Her lips were
full, with a strange dark coloring applied to them. Her
hands slid over his chest, pulling up his shirt. The
fingertips brushed over his nipples. She was bending down
towards him. Her breasts touched his chest lightly, and she
began kissing his neck and checks gently.
"It will be a wonderful day for a wedding," she
murmured. She pressed her lips against his, feeling the
stubble from his upper lip against hers.
Erik was still having trouble keeping up with events.
What was going on with her? he wondered. Her kissed warmed
his lips, and he slowly began to relent as she started to
undress him. However, something about the wedding was
bothering him. There would be a wedding, but there was
something he needed to do.
Her kiss was warm, passionate and strong.
A strange, gravely voice floated through his memory,
"Merely a sedative, known as the ti‚de somme, or Warm Sleep.
It requires a small amount of heat to work. Apply it to your
skin and it will do nothing. However, if that portion is
irritated, you would fall into a deep sleep. Applied in
specific ways, it can be very useful. Give this to the girl.
I'm sure she'll make good use of it."
Erik tried to pry Kira off. She fought with him, trying
to pin him down. My god, she's like an animal! Erik thought.
He rocked towards the edge of the sofa, and they both fell
over. By the time they hit, Kira was already sedated. Erik
could feel himself growing tired too, but he forced himself
up. His ears wear no longer ringing, although his balance
was still not right. He stumbled towards a bowl of water
Kira had sitting beside a mirror. He splashed it upon his
face, and it helped alleviate the sedative a bit. He pushed
himself towards the door.
Through the halls he was stumbling once more. He
thought he knew the way roughly from where he was to
Wenhaver's chambers. He needed to hurry. Accosting a page
running by he growled, "Where are Wenhaver and Colin?"
"The l-lady is in her ch-chambers, sir. Sir C-Colin is
headed there too, I think." The boy watched Erik fall
heavily against the wall, "Should I take you to your
quarters sir?"
Like a cracking whip, Erik pushed himself from the
wall, and carried the boy to the far wall. He pinned him
with his dagger, "Begone, brat! Summon the guard to
Wenhaver's chamber's. Now!" He released the page, and fell
against the wall again.
His sight swam. It was becoming hard to feel his
extremities, and he dropped his dagger. He slapped himself
and pushed away from the wall once more. The floors twisted
as he walked, and the walls seemed to melt before his gaze.
He felt like a rat running through a melting maze. Past
doors and through rooms he ran, weaving from side to side.
Those who saw him kept a distance from the drunken looking,
half dressed man. He growled ferociously at any who
approached. He ran through the small library of the secret
meetings, and down more corridors. Finally he came to a door
to the final passage before Wenhaver's chambers. He stumbled
back as he tried to open it, then fell forward, nearly
closing it completely again. He lay on the carpet, paralyzed
and hovering at the edge of consciousness.
Before his sight passed Colin Oaksarm. With him was a
small childling sluagh. Erik's gaze met with the sluagh's
for an instant before they passed by the door and into
Wenhaver's rooms. He tried to summon the strength to push
himself up, but for all that he accomplished, he might as
well have been trying to move a mountain by mental force
alone. The carpet felt rough against his bristled skin, and
it was beginning to grow damp beneath his cheek. He was
drooling.
Eventually another passed before his gaze. It was
Edwynn. He tried to call out, but only a whisper of,
"Guards... guards," came. Shortly, Edwynn left the room
again, walking quickly down the hall. He heard the footsteps
of several men approaching, and saw the guards finally enter
Wenhaver's chambers. From there, he fell into
unconsciousness.
Several hours later, Erik through open the door to
Ormond's rooms. The eshu was sitting in his chair reading.
He looked up at Erik. "Why are you so angered? Your
investigation has ended. You failed."
"Damn you! You played me like a card!"
"Whatever are you talking about, Erik?"
Erik rushed at Ormond and grabbed him by the collar of
his shirt. He hit the eshu squarely across the jaw and
dropped him to the floor. Ormond made a quick motion with
his hand, sending Erik flying backwards. "How dare you!"
"You killed her!" Erik yelled. "I know it!"
Ormond stood and smiled. "Really? It would seem that
Sir Edwynn was the murderer."
Erik grabbed at his dagger, ready to send it flying at
Ormond. Unfortunately, he had not yet retrieved it from when
it dropped. Ormond smiled again.
"Kill me now, and you will be seen as a murderer
yourself."
"I know it was you, Ormond," Erik said, standing up.
"Perhaps. In any case, you have no proof."
"I know who your accomplice was as well. Balthazar was
no mute, was he?"
"Who do you plan to bring this to, Erik? The family is
all in mourning now. Edwynn has already ran, and once anyone
questions you -- and they will -- he will be the obvious
culprit. They want an easy mark, and all the circumstances
will point towards Edwynn. They will not wish to listen to
some foreigner, who has lied about his identity, spouting
conspiracies without any evidence."
Erik growled. "I'll have your neck for this, Ormond.
Believe me. The next time we meet I shall have all the
evidence I need."
"Of course you will. Now, leave my chambers before I
call the guards to remove a delusional madman."
Erik headed towards the door. He stopped halfway
through and turned back to Ormond. "There is something I
forgot to tell you, Ormond. Remember when I told you I
overheard Wenhaver speaking to someone in her rooms after
Edwynn left? I didn't mention something. She gave this
person some trinket. It will allow the possessor to claim
the Westhaven throne." He smiled himself as Ormond paled,
realizing all the careful planning would be undone by a
simple trinket in the future.
Erik had his bags together and was about to leave when
there was a knock on his door. He opened it to find a green
skinned troll standing before him. "Greetings, Sir Perival,"
the giant said. "My name is Fjord Thunderstrike. I was one
of Sir Colin Oaksarm's prot‚g‚s." Erik said nothing, and so
the giant continued. "It is said that you were found
unconscious close to the scene of the ... tragedy. I
wondered if ... do you know anything about what happened?"
Erik looked atthe young troll, who suddenly appeared no
larger than a childling. Concern was plain upon the giant's
face as the ax upon his back. A silence grew between the two
like a cancer. Slowly the giant's shoulder's began to droop
as he thought Erik would not answer. Erik turned away and
walked back towards his things as he said, "I heard
footsteps, and saw a figure, but I do not know who it was. I
fell unconscious. When I awoke I heard that Wenhaver and
Colin were dead. The facts seem to remain unknown." So his
purpose here, in the eyes of Ormond and Balthazar, was
partially fulfilled. At least he had not provided them the
complete scapegoat they had hoped for. He stuffed his few
remaining things into his bags.
"Yes. I suppose they do." The troll left, closing the
door behind him.
Erik picked up his bags and walked through Westhaven
towards the door to the mundane world. Taking a bus back to
Cair ABE would give him an excuse to take some time alone.
He had had enough of the Dreaming for a few days.
At the front door stood a small sluagh, gazing out into
the rainy streets below. The boy looked at Erik as he
approached. There was a cold, dark fire hidden in the wells
of the sluagh's eyes. Erik knew its name, Vengeance. The
sluagh looked away again, and Erik walked out into the cold
streets of New York.
For now his game had escaped him, but this was one hunt
Erik knew had not ended.
(
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