Sado took Diana’s arm and she slipped it easily into his. ‘By the stars he’s strong…’ She could feel the steel-like muscle of his body, it was always a pleasure to feel such strength. ‘But she still beat him.’ It was almost incomprehensible. But if Sado wasn’t lying, the lady of the house had indeed defeated him in combat.
She abandoned the thought while they made their way after the escort, through the long hall that typified city-state princely palaces, and found themselves in open court. The throne was of turquoise, with a cross spear design thrusting out at the back. Prince Yanmelu sat on the throne with his elbow on the armrest and leaning forward so that his chin was resting on his left hand.
His eyes widened slightly when he recognized Prince Sado, but he only showed a hint of passion when he moved his eyes to Diana, and shifted uncomfortably on his throne.
He was of a slighter build than Sado, though taller, sharp, with beady eyes of brown, curly brown hair that hung past his ears, a sharp nose, and a beard that came down to a point a few inches beyond his chin. His clothing was of watery blues and greens, rich, thick and furled around from the shoulders, but showed the Pasenian influence in that they grew narrow near the waist as the ruffles went down from there.
At his right hand stood a mountain of a man with coal dark eyes, broad shoulders and thick powerful looking arms to match. His eyes were as sharp as those of the Prince, though he had a shorter nose and their beards matched, his facial hair was a burnt auburn shade. ‘The General of Hanak’sen’s army… the Prince’s cousin. Yanlim.’ Sado recalled the name in brief. Neither of the two men looked excessively friendly, but both looked with interest at his companion.
“So… it’s true.” Prince Yanmelu said as both Sado and Diana came within proper distance and knelt with heads bowed toward the throne. “You did survive, and ended up in the service of that noblewoman in Pas’en who has been… busy.”
“I did, Prince Yanmelu, and I have found myself in her service.” Prince Sado’s voice was uncharacteristically humble as he kept his head bowed to his enemy.
“And now you’re kneeling before me, if you’d done that in the first place as I told you to do, I might not have a harem full of Komestran whores now. So… perhaps I should thank you.” The vindictive Prince was clearly enjoying the taunting of his defeated foe, and uninterested in stopping. “I really wanted to get your advisor but…” he shrugged, “Prince Rasgen got to her first. Oh well.” Sado felt the eyes on him, felt the tension in his own fingers, but he kept himself tightly controlled.
“What you say may well be true, Prince Yanmelu, this is especially true given your valor in the final siege. Victorious Prince that you are, I’m sure you led the charge in such a way that it would have put my last stand to shame.” Sado’s reply, delivered with such sincerity, cut deep.
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the uncomfortable faces of various nobles. Sado’s own final stand had become a renowned and legendary tale of courage and strength. Prince Yanmelu however, had no such claim to fame.
Yanlim leaned over toward the throne, “My Prince…?”
“Right well, to business…” Yanmelu said with gruff dismissal of the prior commentary. “What do you want?”
Diana spoke up in her melodic voice, “My mistress wishes you to consider selling her as many of your Komestran slaves as you’re willing to part with. She further wishes you to part with the farmland outside of the city, she will pay substantial sums, of course.”
“And… it takes only one of you to convey such a message. Is one of you a gift, do I get to choose?” Prince Yanmelu made the cruel joke, and uncomfortable laughter came out over the room.
The two slaves however, kept their faces neutral. Diana let herself blush with a shyness that Sado knew was faked, and replied, “Regrettably, Prince Yanmelu, neither of us are gifts, the fallen Prince acts as my bodyguard, as there is only one in the great city-states that I know of who can defeat him. With his protection, I am beyond threat of harm, no matter where I am.” To Diana’s own surprise, she found the words she’d rehearsed that would praise her own and politely warn the ‘other’ was sincerely meant. ‘He actually would fight for me…’ It was obvious in retrospect, but with the sword at his side, and his body equipped with armor in the fashion provided by their owner’s coin… ‘He is a force to be reckoned with.’
Prince Yanmelu closed his mouth tighter, considering her words and evaluating the Prince turned bodyguard. Finally he turned to her and asked, “I know him… but I do not know you.”
She bowed her head more deeply, “Diana of Komestra, servant of the former Lady Kaiji, presently servant of the Duchessa Aiwenor of Pas’en.”
“I see… well… Diana of Komestra, I have little reason to sell off my labor force, and even less reason to sell off the land I have acquired. However… I can be… persuaded, if properly approached. Why is it your mistress is not here?” The Prince asked, looking very long up and down at Diana.
‘Got him.’ Diana thought pleasantly, “My mistress is… if I were to guess, at this point almost halfway to the Tlalmok capital to deliver the tribute of her city. I expect her back around a month from now, since she’s gone alone.”
The mutterings about the room were almost a roar of disbelief… in the utter madness of the expedition, and in the expectation of her return.
General Yanlim was the first to speak, almost gently, pityingly when he did so, “Diana… you don’t really believe she will be back, do you?”
It was unexpectedly kind the way he said it, but Diana answered soft words with flint certainty. “I do.”
It caused the General to go silent in thought, but she felt his eyes on her as well. ‘Got him, too.’ Diana felt that sparkle within herself when she had successfully ensnared the interest of a target.
If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
----------------------------------------
Anton’s voice was full of both greed and disgust at the way Lodira’s throaty voice defied decorum. She heard his knuckles crack when he made a fist. “Fine. You’ll see his final resting place on the way to the holding area after the sale. The new steward should be here in the morning. His first task will be to take you out of this house forever. Do not even mention that you were ever part of this house. Now get out of my office you...go find a camisk before you sleep, be ready to go before the noon meal. Go… go and get out you… disgusting thing…”
Lodira slowly stood up, she wiped the hurt from her eyes. ‘He couldn’t even leave Albaer’s post empty for a day… not one day…’ She cursed the man who made her, and wondered why the stars loved him so.
She looked down at the wet forefinger from where she’d rubbed her eyes, and said, “I’ll take the name ‘Tir’. That will be on the receipt you get… Count Valoisin.” She uttered before she made her way out and did as he said. Though she did not go to her own quarters, instead she went to her own room. The door wasn’t locked, and when it was shut, behind her, she looked around. Most of the things she had were already gone, childhood items such as dolls and toys, a stuffed toy that had been one of the only gifts her father had ever given her, was no longer at its proper place in the corner. The chair it sat on was gone too.
She opened the wardrobe and looked it over, the clothing was still there, each piece was drab but the ones she chose, it would take time to sell all of that, ‘They’ll likely just tear up the fabric for use in other things…’ She thought bitterly, imagining the clothing that had defined her outlandish disregard for the gray existence of her city being torn asunder. A shaking hand touched the soft fabric, running along the sleeve like she was caressing the dying arm of a dear friend, she looked behind her on what had been her bed. There lay the crumpled white camisk.
She dropped the sleeve, tore off the maid outfit and threw it on what had once been her bed. She threw the white cotton cloth over her head so that the fabric rested on her shoulders. She then bound it at the waist from front to back before looking at herself in the mirror. “You may be going, but you’re going on terms ‘you’ set, not him. And Anton can never take that from you, even if you threw him off too much to realize it now, later he will, and it will be a thorn in his side till he dies, that you took some of his power from him even at your lowest point. That isn’t nothing.”
She told herself that much, and then let herself wonder, ‘Will the Prince get your letter? Will he do anything even if he does? Will the Duchessa?’ These were not the first occasions to have those thoughts, but it seemed somehow more ‘pointless’ now. The Duchessa would not be back for weeks or more if she were even still alive.
The Prince had already done much just by trying to protect her, the little idle fantasy of him stashing her in his hunting cabin where they could be together a few times per year was just that, a fantasy. ‘He is guided by his duty, not his dreams. If it were Sado…’ the irony was not lost on her, that their boyhood friend who had always followed his passions and ideals, would be more likely to storm the pen and drag her out to safety, than her actual lover. ‘But he’s broken now too… property of the Duchessa, probably madly in love with her too, given his fondness for… that sort of strength.’
She cast off the worthless thoughts like she’d cast off the last vestiges of her tie to her liberty, and headed back to her quarters to get what sleep she could.
----------------------------------------
After Nua applied the dye ball to the clothing he wore, giving it a nice deathly necromantic black and breaking a ball of white dye to use as paint to mark some crude beastman skulls on the fabric, she stepped back. She looked over her handiwork, the white eyed rhinoman simply stared back emptily at her.
Nua folded her right arm over her stomach and rested her left elbow on it, then held her chin in her false hand and rubbed while she looked him up and down. “Something is missing…” She uttered with annoyance. “Now what was it that Teacher used to say about the details…”
The fire crackled and one of the logs fell with a thud as the wood snapped when it was burned away. She snapped the fingers of her false hand and walked to the fire. Nua reached in with her false hand and sought the gray ash she needed, and approached the rhinoman with a handful of the stuff. She got up on her tiptoes while biting her tongue in concentration, and patted one side of his face down. The elven assassin then dropped back onto her heels, returned to the fire, and took one of the burning logs and began to scrape off the burnt wood to make a small pile of black soot. Nua then took that, stood on tiptoe again, and patted down the other side of his face. He had a firmly cultish, ritualistic look now.
“Like a proper death worshipper.” Nua said with a laugh at the irony that Yersin did not join her in. ‘Nobody laughs at my jokes.’ She snorted and went back to the wagon to search through more of his things. The elven woman then hopped up and dug through sacks and tossed open more crates, feeling no fear of the noise in this isolated place, and quickly found that nothing innately useful remained. However… ‘A few walking sticks. That will do nicely. With a little help.’ She thought.
‘Yersin,’ Nua said as she took the biggest and most gnarled sticks that she could from out of the rope that bound it. ‘Imbue this stick with some dark energy, not a lot, but enough that people would think ‘necromancer’ would you?’
Yersin didn’t answer with words, he simply acted, and a moment later the glowing staff radiated death magic.
She hopped down from the wagon and went to the rhinoman’s hand. She took his massive palm, placed the staff in it, and closed his thick, gray, meaty fingers around it. “Do not let go of this.” She ordered. Then glanced over to his wares.
“Take your cart and dump it in the nearest lake or river, then run as fast as you can to the forest just beyond the southwestern ranch. There, wait for my instruction,” Nua reached up and touched the side of the beastman’s face, “kill any living being who enters, but stay within its confines until I say otherwise. Do you understand me, slave.”
The rhinoman nodded numbly, “Good, now run along, and leave no living person to bear witness to your passing.” Nua added, and watched the rhinoman she’d taken, mechanically gather his things, take his cart, and begin to run away.
She returned to her horse and mounted up again, then spurred it forward, “Sorry, but this is our last ride, I can’t risk any traces being left behind.” She patted the neck of the noble mount. Whether it understood her or not, Nua couldn’t be sure, but she felt the need to make her apology anyway. The soft fur of the dark beast was comforting to the touch, and she felt a pang for it in spite of her resolution.
For two more days she rode, targeting no more villages, ignoring and studiously avoiding the lone traveler on the road, moving through the night, hiding during the day, until the forest came into view.
Through deep, thick woods she could still hear the rushing river that seemed to run all the way across the continent. The forest was filled with ancient, gnarled and massive trees that reached toward the sky like they were desperate for their tips to touch it. The grass was rich and thick close by, and within she could hear the many snapping branches.
She drew her horse within, laid her hand on it, patting it with her left hand, and said, ‘Yersin, make it quick.’
“Good boy…” She said to the horse, continuing to gently stroke its flank as the jewel of death ripped the life from it. The horse had a single moment of confusion in its huge wide eyes, and then it was gone. It toppled over with a crash. Branches and twigs snapped, and the bed of grass and green plants caught the body in their loving embrace.
For a moment she looked down at the limp body of the horse that had carried both herself and Sobella, and then only herself, over hostile ground and back again. Just as she was about to tear away her lingering look, she saw something unexpected. A swarm of tiny crawling bodies. ‘Ants.’ She realized, ‘He must have disturbed an anthill when he fell… I see… well they will make short work of him. The colony will thrive from his death.’
She took one more moment, long enough to see them swarm the flesh, at first attempting to sting the interloper, but the horse was now beyond pain, beyond suffering. And so, the little red things began to tear apart the flesh and fur, the whole colony mobilized, soldiers joined by workers. For a while, Nua could only watch in fascination.
A few ants came to her and tried to bite at her boots. She caught sight of one, and squashed it under her thumb as if to punish it for demanding more than what she had already given them.
Finally she waited no more, and ventured into the deep wood.
‘Yersin, summon my slave and all the undead, call them to us. Tonight we strike.’