few minutes the Brat opened the door for
Prime and Second. It was all horribly
reminiscent of that first sight of Wolfbiter,
half a lifetime ago.
Within Blade limits, Quarrel was tall,
much taller than Wolfbiter, but equally dark,
lithe like a rapier himself. Second was a stocky,
broad-shouldered redhead, probably a slasher--
Candidate Hereward. Babes, both of them. Had
they even been born the last time Durendal came
to Ironhall?
The ritual words were spoken. The boys
turned, and Candidate Quarrel had his first sight
of the old man who would claim his absolute
allegiance--shock, horror, and dismay.
Durendal knew that he had made a mistake,
but it was too late to back out. The poor kid was
stuck with him now.
The embarrassing moment passed as soon as the
antiquated visitor was named, when Prime
made a very fast recovery, feigning wild
enthusiasm. "Incredible honor ... never dreamed
... admired here in Ironhall beyond any other
..." He was wasted as a swordsman. He should
have gone on the stage.
The following night, Quarrel was bound. On the
third night after that, Kromman came
to Greymere with the king's writ. ...
"Her ladyship returned this afternoon, my lord."
Caplin lifted the cloak from Durendal's
shoulders. Candlelight from the chandelier glistened on
the steward's shiny scalp and the bunched cheeks of his
smile. "An uneventful journey, she said.
She is in the library. May I take
that for you, Sir Quarrel?"
"No worry." Quarrel tossed his cloak
over a chair, Ironhall fashion.
It would not be tolerated there for long in
Caplin's demesne. His standards were much narrower
than his person, which almost rivaled the King's in
width and depth, if not in height. A jewel, was
Caplin--about twenty million carats. He had
shed his smile as he noted the absence of the gold
chain. "Her ladyship has already dined, my lord.
You did say you would be remaining at the palace
tonight."
"A welcome change of plan. Have Pardon
attend to the horses and see that the coachman and the
lackeys are suitably boarded--can't send them
back tonight. Tell Churpen I want to clean up
and change, please. Then I will second Sir
Quarrel at one of those celebrated banquets
you call snacks. I think he can last another
half hour before he dies of starvation."
His Blade flashed a winsome grin. "I
estimate just short of forty-two minutes, my
lord."
"Come and meet my good lady."
Durendal led the way through to the library, his
favorite room, scented by leather bindings and
wood smoke. A pine fire crackled merrily
on the slate hearth and rows of books smiled
down from tall shelves.
He braced himself to break the tidings and did not
have to. She missed the chain instantly and hurried
to him, her eyes hunting out all the implications
before he could even open his mouth. Her hair had
never lost its golden shine and was well served by the
current fad for small bonnets. On the other
hand, her figure was too delicate for the tight
bodices worn with the newfangled farthingale, which
favored the voluptuous. Tonight she was rustling
voluminous skirts of a fiery red that would have
shocked her five years ago, but such was fashion.
Inside the shifting styles the basic woman never
changed--although tonight she did look a little fatigued
by her journey.
He did not try to tell her what had
happened, just hugged her in silence. Then he
murmured, "Natrina and the children are well?"
"Yes." Kate loosened her embrace just enough
to look him in the face. "Was this your idea or
his?"
"His."
"And who replaces you?"
"Kromman."
"That wretch?"
He released her with a quick frown of warning.
"Dearest, let me present my honored
guardian, Sir Quarrel. Lady Kate."
She rewarded the Blade's bow with a bob and a
flawless smile. "I have already heard of Sir
Quarrel! I came home to find all the
female staff staggering around and bumping into things because
their eyes were full of stars. Now I see why.
You are very welcome indeed, Sir Quarrel. I
am sure the service around here will improve
dramatically."
Whatever the boy might have been up to with the maids
during the last two nights, he could not possibly
have any more experience of women than that; yet he
took the teasing with an easy smile, like a
seasoned gallant. "And I see that their
extraordinary tales of their mistress's beauty
were not exaggerated at all."
Kate's laugh was still pure birdsong. "What
an outrageous untruth! Sir Blade, you should
be ashamed of yourself. But I thank you for it." She
rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "Now
tell me about your binding. My husband's arm has
not lost its skill, I hope?"
"He skewered me like the expert he has always
been, my lady--all over before I even knew
it. It is a tremendous honor to be bound to the
greatest swordsman of the century."
"And an even greater one to be married to him, I
assure you! Now show me your sword."
Beaming, he drew and went down on one knee
to proffer it as if he were pledging it to her. Kate
took it. She found the point of balance, then
held it correctly in a rapier grip, one
finger over the quillon.
"You are a point man, Sir Quarrel!"
"Few are as versatile as his lordship,
ma'am."
"She is wonderfully light. What is she
called?"
"Reason, my lady."
Durendal had not thought to ask that and Quarrel was
glowing like a candle flame because Kate had. She
had stolen his heart as she could steal any man's.
His lordship could almost feel jealous--not because he
doubted her love, but because he knew he could not
charm a woman as she was enchanting this
boy.
"A valiant name for a noble sword," she said,
returning it. "May Reason win all your
arguments, Sir Quarrel!"
"We'll go and change, dear. I asked
Caplin to prepare a snack for us."
Kate concurred at once. As he turned to the
door, he caught her eye and saw she was not
smiling anymore. She understood the problems.
Quarrel, only three days bound, was still in
what Montpurse had called the bathroom
phase. (why did he keep thinking of
Montpurse tonight?) To spare him unnecessary
anguish, Durendal left the door open while
he bathed. While Churpen dressed him, he
stood where his Blade could see him from the tub, and
then waited
for him to dress in turn--wondering with
amusement whether Quarrel would run after him naked
if he tried to leave. Together they returned to the
library, where a modest feast for six was laid out
on a portable table. Kate sat by the fire working
at her spinning wheel under the candlelight. She was
never idle.
"I must drink to my release and retirement,"
Durendal announced. "You will have a glass,
Kate? No? Sir Quarrel?"
"Just one, my lord. As you warned me, that seems
to be my limit."
"Tell me what happened," Kate said without
looking up. It was unlike her to be impatient.
"Kromman brought a warrant from the King. I
took off my chain, throttled him with it, and came
home."
"I wish I could believe you." She rose and
came over to him. "The warrant was genuine, of
course?"
He stared up at her in blank astonishment.
"Absolutely no question. Signed and sealed."
"Seals can be stolen. The signature?"
"The King's. I have seen it a million times.
Very firm."
She removed the knife from his fingers. She
lifted his hand to lay it against her cheek. She
kissed it. Then she spun around and went back
to her place by the fire. What on earth?
"Kate?"
She started the wheel turning again. "You have a
serious problem, husband dear. You will have to leave the
country, of course."
He glanced at his companion. Quarrel was
chewing lustily but missing nothing.
"Cannot this wait until we have finished our meal,
dearest?"
"I'm not sure it can, if Kromman is
involved. You may gamble your own life--you always
have. But a few days ago you accepted a Blade.
You must not throw him away so lightly."
Quarrel said, "My purpose is only
to serve, my lady. I am of no other
consequence."
"Rot. If the King's men come to arrest my
husband, what will you do?"
"Kate!"
"Die, I suppose," Quarrel said
quietly.
"Exactly. Has he explained to you why he
accepted a Blade from the King now, after twenty
years of managing without one?"
The boy's dark eyes looked from one to the other
of them appraisingly, and for a terrible moment he was
Wolfbiter--Wolfbiter almost thirty years
dead, Wolfbiter who would be over fifty now had
he lived.
"No, my lady. Just that it was His Majesty's
decision."
Durendal refilled his glass angrily.
Why was Kate in such an overwhelming rush? He
had entirely lost his appetite, but he must
allow Quarrel to satisfy his. He could feel
quite nostalgic watching the way the boy put away
food, although there wasn't a pennyworth of fat
on him.
"Rubbish!" Kate said. She would not be
diverted when she was in this mood. "He has
refused the offer many times before. Is that not so, my
dear?"
"Once or twice."
"So five days ago the King honors you
by assigning you a Blade and today he fires you.
I think you owe your companion an explanation."
"I wish I had one." Durendal swirled the
red wine in his goblet, studying the play of light
through the crystal. He forced himself to look up and
meet Quarrel's questioning stare, painfully
reminiscent of another boy's, long ago. ...
"The King is dying."
He watched color drain from the peach-bloom
cheeks. No, Quarrel was not Wolfbiter. He
never would be. But he was a brave and
dedicated young man, decent and likable and in
deadly peril through no fault of his own--only because
a useless old man had accepted him as a gift
out of stupid sentimentality. Quarrel took
life less seriously than Wolfbiter ever had
or ever would have, but that did not mean he was any
less worthy. He would do his duty as
stubbornly. If necessary, he would die as
bravely, perhaps even more bravely, for he would
regret the need more.
"Soon?" the boy asked.
"Soon. He's over seventy. He's been
grossly overweight for most of his life.
Sometimes he can hardly breathe now. He has an
oozing ulcer on his leg, can't walk. A month
or two, no longer."
Quarrel began to eat again. Life must go on.
"Surely healers can be found for a king, my lord?"
"They have done all they can. Time and death yield
little to conjuring. He would have died five years ago
without the healers."
"Princess Malinda?"
"To the best of my knowledge, she is in good health."
If Durendal was not to eat more, he may as well
talk. "You are surprised that I am not sure?
Well, the Princess is no friend of mine, Sir
Quarrel." He twirled his wineglass. "Nor
of her father's. King Ambrose has his virtues,
but being a fond parent was never one of them. She was
as self-willed as he is and she never forgave the
callous way he discarded her mother. I earned her
dislike when I was still Commander."
"You don't need to tell that story,
Durendal," Kate said flatly.
"I think I do." Hearing a few of the sleazy
things a chancellor did in the course of twenty
years' service might cool Quarrel's
incandescent hero worship. "When Malinda reached
deeding her some Blades of her own. I looked
into the historical precedents and argued strongly
against it. It seemed that letting an unmarried
damsel bind a twenty-year-old swordsman was
not merely asking for trouble but virtually insisting on
it. I do not believe she was promiscuous
by nature, but she was young and she was surrounded at
all times by dashing young guardsmen."
Quarrel smirked knowingly with his mouth full.
"There are two ways of losing your head over a
woman, Sir Quarrel, and we are
discussing the permanent way."
Quarrel sobered instantly, mumbling an
apology.
"I chose her escorts carefully and made
sure every man jack of them knew about certain
obscure methods of committing treason. The
Princess fell head over heels for two or
three of them--in succession, I mean, not
simultaneously. They reported to me when the
fire got too hot for them, and I transferred
them to other duties."
Neither the King nor Montpurse had known what
was happening, but Malinda had accused Sir
Durendal of spying on her, harassing her, and
meddling in her private life. Her enmity had
begun then.
"Just after I was made chancellor, Dark
Chamber agents caught the Princess and her
current passion in compromising circumstances--
meaning together in a dark corner. There was very nearly
a majo
r scandal. It was only to prevent one that
the King refrained from throwing Commander Bandit and
several other people in the Bastion--and me, too, when
he found out that this was not her first flirtation.
Kromman thought I was done for at that point. So
did I."
"It was the stupid little honey's own fault!"
Kate snapped. "Why she should have blamed you for
it, I can't imagine."
Durendal shrugged. "She thought I'd set her
up. She'd have done better to blame the
inquisitors. And don't be too hard on her.
Ambrose had her examined by a panel of
doctors and midwives to make sure she was still a
virgin, and no sixteen-year-old would
appreciate that humiliation. He decided
to marry her off as fast as possible, especially
because he was about to marry Princess Dierda of
Gevily, who was a month younger than she was.
He wanted no court jesters asking which was which.
Then the queen of Baelmark died and he saw a
way to end the war, kill two birds with one
stone." Better to offer his daughter than a
humiliating apology ...
"What did she think of the idea?" Quarrel
asked thoughtfully.
"Princesses marry whom they are told
to marry. Most of them do, anyway--I really
thought Malinda would have to be driven aboard the ship
at sword point, but no. She is her
father's daughter and she kept her dignity. She was
convinced that the match had been my idea, though."
Quarrel tensed. "Does she still think so, my
lord?"
"I'm sure she does. In fact, I argued
against it as strongly as I dared. The King told
me to mind my own business. Parliament might have
stopped him, but he didn't need to call
Parliament then, because Lord Snake was suppressing
elementaries all over the place and gold was
pouring in. He already had a son to succeed him.
He was convinced he could father a dozen others on
Dierda--he was not yet fifty. Besides, no king
of the Fire Lands has ever died of old age.
He expected Malinda to come slinking home to him
as a widow very shortly.
"He was wrong on all counts. King Radgar
still rules in Baelmark. Dierda proved barren.
His son died that same year. Malinda has never
written him a note and will not receive his
ambassadors. He learned about the birth of his
grandsons from public reports. If she cannot
forgive her father, her feelings toward me had best
be left unspoken."
Obviously the Ironhall classes on the
court had included little of this, for Quarrel's