Knight's Prize (27 page)

Upon
two walls hung an array of weapons the like Rand had never seen. Several
wide-bladed short swords and long poles with notched heads flanked one end of
the display. Beside them hung jointed sticks, flails, and daggers of all sizes
with blades, both toothed and smooth, some as broad as an axe, some no wider
than a nail. Against the second wall were propped what appeared to be a sharpened
shovel, a scythe, a forked staff, and a pole with a large crescent blade atop
it. Small plates of steel forged into shapes resembling stars and forks and
circles formed a ring around a bronze shield depicting the face of some
grimacing beast. And finishing off the display was a collection of
metal-spined silk fans, painted not with flowers, but with snarling, curve-clawed,
sharp-toothed dragons.

After
Rand snapped his jaws shut again, he glanced around the rest of the chamber.
'Twas definitely Miriel's room. Those were her hair ribbons. There, draped
across the chest at the foot of the bed, was the green surcoat he'd slipped off
her shoulders yesterday. And the two lower corners of the deep red swag above
the bed were embroidered in gold with the letter M.

For
a moment, all he could do was stare at the room's furnishings and the jarring
juxtaposition of her sheer white linen underskirt hung on one wall beside what
looked like Neptune's vicious trident.

What
the Devil was going on here?

And
mayhap just as intriguing, he thought, his gaze drifting longingly toward the
keen edge of one of the short swords, how effective would that weapon be?

He
eyed it speculatively. 'Twas a handsome piece, sleek and smooth, its blade
broad and flat with subtle carvings near the haft, the grip featuring a steel
loop that enclosed the hand. He wondered how light 'twas. It certainly hadn't
the reach of a broadsword, but mayhap its speed compensated for its lack of
length.
  

There
was only one way to find out.

The
sword
was
light,
much lighter than his own, and he found that because of its reduced size, he
could wield it with more control. 'Twould be useless against a longer blade,
but for close combat...

Of
course, that pole with the crescent at its end could finish off a foe before he
got within sword's reach. Rand hung the short sword back on the wall and hefted
the peculiar spear. He tested the edge with his thumb. God's bones, 'twas sharp
enough to slice a man in half.

He
was carefully replacing the piece when two short-handled forks caught his eye.
He took the forearm-length weapons off the wall, testing their balance. They
were likely intended for use as a pair, but curiously, the tips were blunted.
They couldn't be much of a stabbing weapon.

He
returned them to their place, then studied the curious metal stars. These were
sharp, their points honed to an almost transparent edge. But there was no
handle, no grip. How were they used? Surely holding such a weapon was only
inviting it to be embedded in one's palm.

And
the segmented spear farther along the wall, seven pieces of wood connected with
links of chain, how was that employed? Was it used like a flail, swung over
one's head?

He
took the piece off its hook. 'Twas a heavy thing and quite long. Perchance
'twas a weapon to be used on horseback. If a rider swung the thing in a great
circle, none could draw near enough to attack. He took hold of the last
segment, held it over his head, and began swinging it slowly so it circled
about his feet. Gradually he increased the speed until 'twas twirling about him
at knee level, then higher. 'Twould make an excellent weapon, for the impact of
that last chunk of wood at high speed would, be heavy indeed.
j

An
instant later, he found out just how heavy.

The
chamber door swung open suddenly, startling him. When his arm jerked back, the
whirling device wobbled off course and struck the post of Miriel's bed with a
loud thunk, making a dent in the oak.

Rand
didn't believe he'd ever blushed in his life, but he did now as Miriel and Sung
Li stepped in, and he was caught, not only trespassing, but making a fool of
himself and damaging the furnishings.

For
a long moment, Miriel stared at him, stunned, and he stared back, mortified, as
the weapon, dangling from his guilty hand, snaked about him, finally coiling
lifelessly on the floor. Then Sung Li charged forward.

"You zhi!"
she
spit, snatching the weapon from his hand. "Have you no courtesy?" The
old woman glared at him and raised the linked spear. For one moment, he thought
she might use it on him. If she did, he supposed 'twas no more than he
deserved.

"I'm...
I'm sorry." He
was
sorry.
He knew better than to touch another's weapons. 'Twas only that for a warrior
like himself they were so irresistibly unusual and intriguing. He'd lost his
head.

"These
are
mine,"
Sung
Li snarled in no uncertain terms. "You do not touch them. Ever."

He
blinked. The weapons belonged to Sung Li? What would an old maidservant need
with weapons like these? Unless she liked to disguise herself as a woodland
outlaw...

Sung
Li hung the segmented spear back up on the wall and answered his unasked
question. "They belonged to my ancestors. They are sacred. Nobody touches
them."

He
nodded. Of course.

Sometimes
Rand let his imagination get the better of him. Withered old Sung Li didn't
cavort through the forest, wielding the bloody things. They simply hung on the
wall. He supposed he should have guessed they belonged to the Oriental maid by
the strange markings on them, marks that looked like the scratchings of a hen.

It
seemed a waste to leave such glorious weapons hanging unused on a wall.

"They're
quite magnificent," he said.

“Do
you think so?" Miriel asked.

"Oh,
aye, most magnificent."

************************************

His
response pleased Miriel.

When
she'd first entered the chamber, she'd naturally been shocked to find Rand
within, horrified to find him wielding her
chut gieh.
But
to think he might be genuinely interested in her weapons...

She'd
begun collecting Chinese arms from the time she'd brought Sung Li home. As far
as anyone knew, they were simply pieces of art Miriel liked to hang upon her
wall, chosen in part to appease Lord Gellir, who had never understood her
dislike for combat. That was the tale she'd told everyone. Not even her sisters
suspected Miriel actually knew how to use them.

The
fact that Rand seemed interested in them relieved and delighted her. Did she
dare to hope he shared the same fascination with such things? Perchance she
could teach him how they were used.

Then
Sung Li had interrupted, claiming the weapons were his, and Miriel suddenly
realized the truth of her situation. She could hardly admit to owning a grisly
collection of Chinese weapons herself. How could she possibly explain that
the docile lady Rand had fallen in love with was an imposter? That the real
Miriel was neither meek nor mild? That she could pick up that
kwan do
and
kill a man in a single blow?

Not
that she had, of course. One of the important philosophies of Chinese warfare
was that violence was always a last resort. Deadly force and lethal skill were
paramount, but the preferable choice was having to use neither.

"What
are you doing here?" Sung Li demanded, facing Rand with his arms crossed
imperiously over his chest.

Miriel
wondered that, too. But her curiosity was tempered by pity. Rand was trying
desperately to fit in, and he was obviously discomfited by what he'd done.
There was no need to make him more uncomfortable.

"I
asked him to meet me here," she lied.

There
was a flicker of surprise in Rand's eyes, but he was quick to pick up on her
ploy. "Aye."

Sung
Li narrowed his eyes. "Indeed? In your bedchamber?"

Miriel
shrugged. "I didn't want to go down to the lists." She wrinkled her
nose. " 'Tis far too dusty."

"Oh,
aye," Rand agreed. "Couldn't have her soiling her pretty
skirts."

"Hmph."
Sung Li could see Miriel was hardly wearing pretty skirts. Forsooth, 'twas only
her drab brown work kirtle. And if he'd known that Miriel had been rolling in
the hay in it earlier, he'd have been even more disgusted. "And what were
you meeting
for?"

"Er..."
Rand glanced at Miriel, at a loss.

"Rand
and I," she said, crossing the room to take him by the hand, "are
going riding."

From
the corner of her eye, she saw Rand's mouth twitch. She prayed he wouldn't
laugh, for if he did, so would she, then their perfidy would be discovered.

Sung
Li looked from one to the other, clearly displeased, but there was naught he
could do. Though he was Miriel's
xiansheng
when they sparred, he was
not her master. Forsooth, in front of Rand, he was little more than a servant.
He could not dictate where Miriel might and might not go.

Sung
Li raised his chin smugly and said, "But what about the physician, my
lady? Did you not promise to accompany him to the monastery today?"

God's
eyes! She'd forgotten. She'd offered to help treat an ailing monk. 'Twas the
reason she'd canceled her riding trip in the first place. 'Twas also why she'd
come to her chamber, to fetch a cloak and a few of her own medicines.

But
instead of conceding defeat, thinking quickly, she flashed Sung Li her sweetest
smile. "Oh, Sung Li, you'd do that for me? Go in my place? How kind. I'd
be so grateful." She turned to ask Rand, "Is Sung Li not the most
wonderful maidservant?"
1

"Wonderful,"
Rand agreed.

The
frown between Sung Li's brows deepened, and his eyes darkened with fury. He
might not be able to issue orders to Miriel at the moment or even refuse her
requests, but he could make her life miserable when they sparred on the morrow.
She could almost see him dreaming up harrowing exercises for her.

Still,
'twas worth saving Rand's pride. Besides, with one of the day's most
time-consuming duties delegated to Sung Li, Miriel would have time to spend
with her suitor.

"You'd
better hurry then," she urged the maid, snapping up two vials from her
table and handing them to Sung Li. "Here are the medicines. The monastery
may keep them. I'll purchase more on the morrow at the fair."

When
she placed the bottles near Sung Li's hand, he grasped her wrist in a subtle
but sharp pinch, pinning her with a gaze as pointed as the
shuriken
on
the wall.

She
refused to cry out or flinch. She understood Sung Li was communicating his
intense disapproval. But two could play at that game.

Miriel
reached out her other hand, ostensibly to press the vials into his palm, but
instead grasped the meaty flesh between his thumb and finger between her short
nails and squeezed.

For
a long moment, the two of them stared stoically at each other, neither one
willing to admit pain or defeat.

"Give
the father my best wishes," Miriel said with a taut smile.

"Enjoy
your ride," Sung Li replied, returning her smile.

"Tell
Brother Thomas I shall pray for his recovery."

"Watch
out for slippery ground."

"Don't
forget your cloak."

"Don't
be late for supper."

'Twas
Rand who ended the stand-off. "I'll go find a carpenter to repair your
bed."

Miriel
released Sung Li and whirled about. "That won't be necessary." Then,
with her warmest smile, she crossed the room to open the door for Sung Li,
bidding him a deceptively fond farewell. "Have a safe journey, Sung
Li."

As
Sung Li passed by her, Miriel felt the anger shimmering off him, almost like
the heat off a forge. As he walked through the doorway, he turned to have the
last word, probably a reprimand for entertaining men alone in one's bedchamber.
But before he could speak, she shut the door in his face. Whirling about, she leaned
back against the closed door and offered Rand a lazy grin.