Fire And Ice (Book 1) (6 page)

             
Coran unpacked a few of his things.  He hung his cloak in the wardrobe and placed his chain mail shirt and padded undershirt in the bottom of the closet.  He had only a couple of extra shirts and hung them up as well.  He put the packs in the bottom, including the wrapped bundle and the small bag that had contained Janin’s bread which he had consumed early on in the journey. 

             
He took off his dirty clothes, worn since leaving Tyelin, and took advantage of the clean water in the bowl on the washstand.  Using a towel to dry off he took out a change of clothes and dressed. He wore the white, long sleeved shirt that laced in the front and a pair of black pants.  He buckled on his sword and then grabbed the black coat with a silver hawk on the breast and put that on as well.

             
Feeling refreshed he left the bedroom for the small ante-room outside.  There were two chairs flanking a low, round table that faced the center of the room.  A narrow bookcase stood beside the bedroom door.  It was barely half filled with leather bound volumes; most of them were of history.  One he knew quite well; ‘The Last Stand of Mon Vusaar’.  It was about the battle for survival of the last standing stronghold of that Kingdom, the battle of Tyelin.  He ran a finger across the leather, remembering the hours he spent sitting in a chair reading about the desperate defense of his home.  How the people of the time had to face the loss of their King and capitol and yet still found a way to defy their enemy.  It was inspiring, especially to a boy in the process of becoming a knight.  He learned what it meant to die for something more important than himself from this book.  He also learned to make sure of what he was dying for before committing himself.  Important lessons to be learned. 

             
Leaving the books, he opened the door to the hall and was surprised to find Katelyn waiting for him outside.  At least he thought she was waiting since she seemed to be walking back and forth in front of his door.  Waiting or not the door opening appeared to startle her. 

             
“Did you want something?” he asked her, wondering why she hadn’t knocked.

             
“I thought you might like to see the city.  It has been a while,” she said a bit nervously.

             
“Why not?  We can get Margery on the way.”

             
“My sister is busy,” she told him in a rush, “but I would be happy to go with you.”

             
He watched her for a moment. 
Is she really nervous about something or am I imagining it?  Could it be me?  She showed no signs of it before. 
“Then it will just be the two of us,” he told her and held out his arm for her to take.  If she had been nervous it disappeared instantly as she wrapped a hand around his arm.                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Chapter 3

Enemies

              Their boots kicked up little swirls of dust as they danced about each other in the midday sun.  The crack of their practice blades meeting echoed off the stone walls of the yard.  After a desperate defense the shorter of the two young men darted back out of reach of the other’s slashing attack.  They stopped and stared at each other from a few feet away.  Their upper torsos were bear and sweaty.

             
The shorter one was Devon of Anders.  He brushed strands of blond hair off his forehead as he wiped away beads of sweat.  He was breathing heavily.  Coran was not.  His eyes were steady as he waited patiently for his friend to move first.

             
Devon attacked, aiming a tight swing at his opponents head.  The response was instantaneous.  The attack was knocked aside and in the blur of strokes that followed the attacker became the attacked.  Coran initiated a series of moves that drove his opponent back step by step.  He changed the aim of his blow in mid swing, the wooden sword thumped into the blonde's middle, doubling him over.  A final flick of the wrist sent Devon’s blade spinning to the dirt of the yard.

             
“Well done,” a familiar voice boomed.  The man who came to stand over them was a big man.  It was not the bigness of height, but rather of bone and muscle.  He had thick, curly, dark hair and a burly mustache.  His name was Hormil; he was arms master of Summerhall and the man who had trained both of them as novitiates.  “You’re still overextending, Devon.”

             
The blond man struggled to stand upright; he held a hand to his stomach.  “I don't know why I spar against you,” he told his friend.

             
“It teaches humility,” Coran replied wryly.

             
“It doesn’t seem to take,” Hormil laughed.  The big man walked away chuckling.               The two sparrers walked over to a row of benches set against one wall of the practice yard.  They returned their wooden blades to racks that sat next to the benches.  They each picked up a towel and began wiping the sweat from themselves before donning their shirts.

             
“You all right?” Coran asked as he straightened his plain white shirt.

             
“Yeah.  There’s nothing like a few bruises after lunch.  Works up the appetite for dinner.”

             
“At least you will get plenty of good food at the party tonight.”

             
“And plenty of stuffy nobles.” 

             
“I am sure you will make the best of it.”  Coran wiped the last of the sweat from his forehead and threw the towel on the bench.  He looked up to the top of the wall and sure enough there they were watching.  Margery and Katelyn were smiling fondly at him.  The older girl whispered something in her sister’s ear that made them both laugh.  Then they walked along the wall and out of sight.                

             
Coran led the way as he and Devon left the practice yard and entered the palace through an arched doorway.  Walking down the hall they passed several attendants in blue livery and a few off duty guards returning from lunch in the dining hall.  The corridors were lit by torches set in iron sconces spread evenly along the walls.  As they approached the part of the building where their rooms were located they happened across the two princesses being confronted by a man dressed in a purple shirt with gold trim down the sleeves.  He wore a thin mustache of dark hair and his eyes were a bit wild.  The way he stood so casually spoke of  a self-bestowed superiority.  Coran had as yet avoided actually meeting the man, but he had seen Torvilin in passing a few times in the two weeks since his arrival.  As he came closer he noticed that whatever the Prince of Voltia had said the two young women were upset.  Katelyn’s eyes promised daggers.

             
“Is there a problem here?” he asked coming closer.               Torvilin glanced at him and snorted with contempt.  “Until tonight,” he told Katelyn, completely ignoring Coran.  Then he eyed her up and down.  He didn’t even try to hide it. Then he turned on his heel and started to walk away.

             
Coran felt his blood heating.  He started after the arrogant prince but something held his arm.  He realized that Devon was holding him back and gave his friend a questioning look.

             
“I know your temper.  You should calm down first,” Devon said sounding worried.  “You have heard how good he is with a sword and he wouldn’t think twice about challenging you.”

             
Coran knew his friend was right, but he could not let it go at that.  “Torvilin!” he called and waited for the pompous Voltian to turn around.  Devon released his sword arm with a sigh.   “Fair warning to you.  Whatever you said, I am guessing, was not well received.  Do not disrespect her like that again.”

             
Torvilin sneered at him.  “Coran is it?  Since we have not been formally introduced I will let your incivility pass.  This time.”  Then he continued on his way with his nose in the air.

             
As he watched Torvilin leave Coran felt genuine hate for the first time in his life.  Over the last two weeks he had noticed how people stayed out of the prince’s way.  Servants were afraid of his temper and armed guards were afraid of his sword.  If he expected Coran to be scared of him he was wrong.  He felt a hand on his shoulder and forced himself to be calm when Margery spun him around to face her.  She was a mix of anger and concern.

             
“Devon’s right, you have to control that temper of yours,” she admonished.

             
“Torvilin is going to be at the party tonight right?” Devon asked.

             
“Yes,” Margery answered trying to calm herself.

             
Devon smiled wickedly.  “It could be a fun night after all.” 

             
“Don’t you two do anything to ruin Katelyn’s birthday,” Margery said sternly as she glanced from one to the other.

             
“I was just considering a gift for the birthday girl.”  Devon turned his smile on Katelyn.  “You know, something she might enjoy.  Like Torvilin’s head stuck on the tip of a pike.”

             
“How considerate of you, Devon,” the raven haired girl gushed at him.  “That would be so sweet.”

             
“Katelyn!” Margery said shocked, then placed a hand to her sister’s shoulder and started to turn her away as a hint of amusement appeared on her face.  “If you two gentlemen will excuse us we need to get ready for tonight.”

             
“Already?” Devon asked them.  He got two very direct looks for a response.

              The man with the white hair wrapped the reins to his horse around a post stuck in the ground outside the dilapidated shack.  Orangish light from the setting sun broke through the trees to bathe the rotting planks.  Wood groaned dangerously when he stepped onto the porch causing something to go skittering away into the brush that had grown up wildly around the abandoned building.

             
“Are you sure this is the place, Naras?” The one-eyed man asked nervously.

             
“Don’t be such a baby Urik, of course I’m sure.”  Naras pushed the door inward.  It squeaked loudly as it swung open on rusty hinges.  “Give me a torch.”  He heard the sound of flint striking steel, then the whoosh and crackle of flame.  He took  the sputtering torch from Urik and entered the dark interior.  There was only one room and wherever the torch’s light shone he only saw pieces of furniture and scattered shards of crockery.  It was a voice from a corner covered in shadows that almost made him jump.              

             
“Did you get the information I wanted?” a man asked in a deep, rich tone. 

             
Naras raised his torch to illuminate the speaker, but the man was hidden by a black robe and his hood was pulled low to hide his face.  “I got it.  He gave in just like you said he would.”

             
“Then tell me.  Who is the boy?” the voice asked impatiently, and with a good deal of urgency.              

             
“From the information you provided he knew of one person who fit the description.  His name is Coran Tyelin.”

             
“Coran Tyelin,” the man said slowly as if he was testing the sound of it.  “Excellent work Naras.  You have proven yourself to me again.  I wonder if you may be ready for more important work.  I could have many other tasks for you to perform.”

             
“I am ready to do whatever you require of me,” Naras replied.  If it meant more money he would do anything.

             
“I have someone who needs watching.  A certain Voltian who could be very useful, but I fear somewhat unreliable.”

             
“Tell me his name and I will do as you command.”  When the voice told him he recognized the name.  He was not entirely surprised by it either.

             
The man produced a barbed tipped arrow.  He then drew it across his hand.  Blood welled up in its wake.  He wiped the tip in the blood, making sure it was covered completely.  He then held it out for Naras.  “Mark the boy Coran for me.”

             
“Yes, my lord,” Naras said simply.  He was ready to do what he could. 

Chapter 4

The Celebration

             
The Grand Hall of the Sun was brightly lit by candles on the tables and torches along the walls at various places.  It was spring on the Plain yet a chill still filled the air.  The tables were arranged so that an empty space was left in the center of the floor.  Food was being brought and set on the tables by servants who bustled about the crowded room.  Nobles, friends and prominent people from all over the Plain, and some from beyond, were in attendance.

             
Coran, dressed in a crisp black shirt that buttoned up the side with silver thread ringing the cuffs and a silver hawk on the left breast, noticed that the guest of honor had not yet arrived.  Devon caught sight of him through the throng and started pushing his way towards him, pausing long enough to snag a piece of cheese off a passing tray that was being carried to one of the tables.  Coran’s friend wore a green top with some gold down the sleeves and brown pants; they were the colors of House Anders.  Coran couldn’t help but be reminded of a walking tree whenever he saw his friend in them.

             
“I hope she shows up soon so we can eat,” Devon mumbled as he chewed.  He swallowed, then stuffed the rest of the piece in his mouth whole.

             
Coran took note of his friend’s eating habits.  “You are going to be the Lord of Anders?”

             
“So they tell me,” Devon responded with a small spray of cheese.

             
Coran rolled his eyes.  “I can’t wait to see you at diplomacy.”             

             
“Nobody is perfect,” the stocky man shrugged.

             
A fanfare of trumpets resounded through the hall to announce the arrival of the King.  The guests shuffled around to leave an empty lane from the doors to the dais.  At a second fanfare Stemis appeared with the Queen at his side.  The Monarchs were clothed in the traditional blue and gold of House Sundarrion; their golden crowns were perched majestically atop their heads.  They moved at a stately pace, nodding occasionally to the nobles on either side in acknowledgment of them being present for the event.  After them came Margery, as beautiful as always in a dress of red with gold thread running down the sleeves and around the hem of the skirts.  Her golden hair was caught up in a silver coronet.  Her mouth formed a thin smile as she walked smoothly to the dais where she went to stand beside her mother.  Coran was reminded once again of how much alike they were.  A wave of respectful bows and curtsies followed the royal procession from the richly dressed men and women in the hall.

             
Coran worked his way through the crowd to the front of the dais where his father waited.   The Lord of Tyelin wore a white shirt and a black coat decorated with silver on the cuffs and a hawk on the left collar. Coran bumped his father’s arm, earning a quick glance.  Without looking he knew that Devon had followed him.

             
A final blast from the horns heralded the guest of honor.  Sixteen was an important age for a Midian since it meant the ascent to adulthood.  For noblemen it meant reaching the last stage of their training.  For all it meant starting to consider a spouse. 

             
Coran knew that she might look different, more grown up as she would be presented as a woman and a girl no longer.  Even understanding that, he was totally unprepared for what he now saw. 

             
Katelyn wore a silk gown of royal blue that left her shoulders bare.  It was a bold style traditionally Arryvestran.  Her raven hair was unbound; it splashed down over her creamy shoulders and artfully framed her exquisite face.  How could he ever have thought her any less beautiful than her sister?  Katelyn’s stately carriage was graceful enough for any queen.  How could he have thought her awkward as he watched her practically float down the aisle?  He realized that his mouth was hanging open and quickly closed it.  He glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, but all eyes were riveted on the ravishing vision that moved among them. It was an image that he would never forget for as long as he lived.

             
When she reached the dais where her father waited before a table set up for the royal family and those close to them, she gave him a kiss on the cheek.  Stemis took her hand and guided her around the table to the chair to the left of his.  Margery sat next to her and the next two chairs were for Coran and Devon, who eagerly took their seats.  Everyone in the hall took the cue to find their own places for the meal.  Coran was trying hard not to stare at her.  It was more difficult then he would have thought.  Thankfully, the meal arrived to distract him.

             
The dish that was set before him had a greenish meat he knew to be lamb.  The sauce was unfamiliar to him. The meat had been covered in a brownish sauce he didn’t recognize.  “What is this?” he whispered to Devon who had already attacked his plate with a vengeance.

             
“Lamb,” was the mumbled reply.

             
“I know it’s lamb.  What is this sauce?”

             
Margery overheard and leaned towards him.  “The sauce is from Karand.  It is a dish that has become quite popular.”  For some reason she had an amused look on her face.

             
He found out when he took a bite.  He was glad he took only a small one, because his mouth was suddenly on fire.  He stifled a cough and tried to swallow the spicy food quickly, then grabbed a pitcher filled with water and poured himself a glass. In his hurry it filled up and almost overflowed onto the table.  He drank gratefully, not even minding the drops that escaped around the corners of his mouth to dribble on his shirt.

             
Margery hid her mouth behind her hand while Devon laughed at him openly.  Katelyn looked to see what the commotion was.  At seeing Coran’s face she changed her gaze to Devon.

             
“You didn’t warn him?” she frowned at the man.              

“And miss the look on his face?  Not a chance,” Devon chuckled and returned to finishing off what was left on his own plate.

              The dark haired princess sighed.  “You only use a little sauce with each bite,” she instructed.  “Use the bread.  It will help.”

             
“I will remember that.”  The advice helped.  He actually started to like the flavor of it.  He finished his plate shortly after Devon did and liveried servants came to take them away.

             
A little while later, when it was apparent that most of the guests had finished eating, the socializing began.  The music changed to a livelier tune.  Guests gathered in groups, standing or sitting, to gossip.  Occasionally, people moved from group to group while others went to the cleared area in the center of the hall to dance in intricate steps to the music. 

             
Coran was roped into dancing by some young Lady he didn’t know.  After a few turns he excused himself to escape her.  Her feet had a tendency to land on his.  He noticed Katelyn dancing as well, and for the next half hour, every time he saw her she was with a different partner.  He worked his way to the side of the room as the musicians stopped for a break. 

             
Coran watched from his position along one wall as Katelyn was surrounded on the dance floor and became the center of attention for a group of smitten young noblemen.  He could see through a gap in the wall of men around her as she laughed at some comment.  When she caught him looking, her laughter died down to a quizzical smile, then something someone said made her laugh again and she looked towards the speaker. 

             
“She looks like she is enjoying herself,” someone said beside him.

             
“What?” he replied absently.

             
“I said she looks to be enjoying herself!”  It was said a bit louder.              

             
Coran, broken from his gaze, noticed Devon beside him.  She did seem to be having a good time.  Tonight was her night and she deserved to have fun, so why wasn’t he happy about it?  “She should be having a good time.  It is her birthday.”  He did like to see her smile.

             
“Yeah, sure.”  Devon was looking at him closely, and a bit amused.

             
Coran returned the look with a scowl.  “What do you mean by that?”

             
“Nothing,” Devon glanced away, “nothing at all.”

             
“Coran?”  A light voice called to him and a woman Margery’s age with curly light brown hair, a pretty oval face, and narrow eyes came to stand next to him.  “I was not aware that you would be here.”

             
“Jocelyn,” he greeted her politely.  She was one of Margery’s friends and he knew her pretty well.  She had a good sense of humor and a pleasant personality.  “It is good to see you again too.”

             
“You probably do not know, but I returned home to Delios shortly after you left.  It is terribly boring there, especially after living here for two years.  When the opportunity came up to come back for Katelyn’s birthday I jumped at it.”  She looked to Devon.  “How are you doing?”

             
“Fine,” he replied smiling.  Then he stepped towards her and put an arm around her waist.  “You look even prettier than when I last saw you.”

             
She removed his arm and patted his hand.  “I thought you would have outgrown your insistent flirting, but I should have known better.”

             
“Me?” Devon replied, exaggerating the word.  “You have me all wrong.  I was just complimenting you.”

             
“Uh huh,” she said sarcastically.              

Coran’s eyes went back to the knot of people around the front of the dais.  A blonde head pushed its way between two men; Margery led her sister out of the encirclement by the hand.  They worked their way across the room towards him, exchanging pleasantries with the guests along the way. 
              They were almost to him when the last person they wanted to see appeared in their path.  Torvilin’s mouth was still in its seemingly permanent sneer.  His purple coat was riddled with golden designs along the high collar and down the sleeves.  White ruffles poked out from the cuffs and the front of his collar.  His dark mustache was oiled into points.  The style of dress was still popular in Voltia.

             
“Your Highness,” he bowed mockingly, “may I congratulate you on your birthday?”

             
“Of course,” Katelyn replied coldly.  “Now if you would excuse us,” she stepped around the obtrusive Prince, but he moved to block her. 

             
“I was hoping you would honor me with a dance.”

             
“I think not.”

             
He apparently expected such a response because he continued calmly without missing a pause.  “Your father has agreed to meet with me tomorrow to discuss us.”  He put a particular emphasis on the last word. 

             
The dark haired Princess fixed him with a look of complete loathing.  “There is no us.  There will never be any us.  It you bother me again with such nonsense there will be no more you.”  She didn’t raise her voice at all.  That only made her threat more palpable.

             
At first Torvilin was surprised by her vehemence, but quickly recovered.  When she finished he actually laughed.  “Such spirit,” he exclaimed with delight, “you will make a wonderful wife.”

             
Both young women stood fuming in silence, neither able to decide how to respond.                

             
“Excuse me,” Coran told Jocelyn and stepped around her.  In a second he was at their side.                             

             
He only needed some excuse to act.  Torvilin, either because he did not care that Coran was there or did it on purpose to provoke him, boldly eyed Katelyn from the head on down and that was all Coran needed.  He took one step forward then planted a fist in the smirking prince’s face.  Someone in a red coat spilled his wine dodging the spinning Torvilin who hit the floor hard.  The Voltian put a hand to his mouth, it came away bloody.  He struggled to rise, and when he finally did his eyes were filled with a barely controlled rage.  People were gathering around them to see what would happen next. 

             
“No one does that to me and lives,” he spat.  His hair was as wild as the look in his eyes.  He reached for the knife at his belt, since swords were not allowed in the hall during the party.  With the sharp blade in one hand he lunged forward.  Coran blocked the attack and spun away.   Protests from the crowd were ignored.  Only hate filled Torvilin’s eyes.

             
The spectators formed a circle around them, pushing their way to a better view but being mindful not to get too close to either princess.  The two men watched each other as they moved about the cleared space.  Coran put a hand to the hilt of the dagger at his belt but did not yet draw it.