Saga of the Old City (22 page)

“May I ask Your Ladyship to stroll in the park gardens?” he said, a bit nervously in spite of himself.

“You must ask Lordship Dhaelhy, for I am his charge, and unless I have his permission I can go nowhere,” she replied with a faint smile.

Did her flute-like voice offer hope, or discouragement? Gord was uncertain, but he determined to play it out. “Thank you, Lady Evaleigh, for your intelligence. Pardon me that I knew not you were the ward of His Authoritative Lordship, Boss Dhaelhy. I am new to the town, you know. I shall ask permission at once.”

Although they were being honored, Gellor and Gord were not seated next to the potentate of the city state, but rather two and three places respectively from him. Seeing that the great lord was engrossed in discussion with a rat-faced man to his left, Gord signaled a varlet behind his chair to come to Gord’s place. The surly man, dressed in a soiled tabard that identified him as one of the lord mayor’s staff, came over slowly, but Gord did not berate him for insolence. Instead, he slipped a common into the fellow’s hand and whispered instructions in his ear. The servant grinned, nodded, and went back to his station.

A minute later, the fellow managed to slide into a pause in his master’s conversation and murmur Gord’s request. Boss Dhaelhy turned and met Gord’s eyes. He was smiling broadly, but Gord read hard assessment in the gaze. Then the varlet said something else in his master’s ear that made Lord Dhaelhy’s great jowls shake with laughter.

“Gentle Gord, Our new Subaltern, your request to accompany Lady Evaleigh on a stroll through the palace gardens is granted-on three conditions!”

Everyone else at the table turned to stare at Gord. Evidently, he had done something amiss, but he was not abashed. He responded quickly and firmly. “Your conditions, My Lord, are my orders.”

“Well said, lad! Here are Our con-orders, then. First, Her Ladyship must agree.” At this, everyone laughed, although Gord was sure that there was jealousy behind some of the mirthful expressions. “Second, you must guard her from all harm and return her to Us immediately after your exercise and fresh air are done. Third, and last, you must return her intact, for she is a virgin, and without her maidenhead, her value to Us plummets!”

At that, raucous sounds, ribald laughter, and rude jests filled the whole of the great hall. Gord, surprised at these statements, was slightly amused himself, until he saw Evaleigh’s blush of anger and humiliation. There was something here he must learn, and quickly, if he was to attain his most desired goal, the fair damsel’s heart-and attendant parts, of course!

“Thank you, Your Authoritative Lordship. Consider all to be as you command.”

Then Gord turned and smiled reassuringly at Evaleigh, saying as he did so, “I seem to be as much a butt of this cruel joke as you, lady. I humbly crave your pardon for unwittingly subjecting you to such discomfort. It is now my fervent wish that I had never asked, but since I have, and His Lordship of Stoink has generously given permission, I now ask again: Will you allow me to accompany you on a walk of the grounds? It is loud and hot in the hall.”

Evaleigh searched his face for a brief moment before responding. “I thank you, Sir, for your kindness, and I most readily accept.”

They were soon strolling through the gardens of the palace, alone save for a pair of guards following some distance behind and occasional sentries they encountered keeping their appointed rounds. Gord slowly toured the park with Evaleigh’s arm in his, keeping the conversation light and impersonal. She played her part too, commenting on the fragrance of the night-blooming flowers and shrubs and asking Gord small questions about himself. As they entered a grassy circle, Gord stopped and peered upward at the myriad stars and the two moons, the pale one shedding full beams upon them, the small blue one little more than a thin crescent, rising. His pausing so caused Evaleigh to do the same, and as both stood gazing at the heavens, their escort remained a considerable ways off, hidden in the deep shadows of the hedges.

Gord seized the opportunity. “My lady, what is it that troubles you so?” he asked.

“Captivity is a hard burden to bear, sir,” she replied with a tinge of hardness in her musical voice.

“Durance, lady, is vile indeed, but it is you who hold my heart captive!” he said, speaking softly but with sincerity. “Being a ward of the master of all around us is not captivity, but rather privilege!”

Evaleigh glared at him. “Take back those words, sir,” she said, “or I swear I shall have revenge for your taunting me so!”

This response nearly left Gord speechless. The vehemence of this wonderful woman was undeniable. He hastened to make amends. “Again, I am at a severe disadvantage, fair lady,” he said as graciously as he could. “Do not become angry at me for some ignorance on my part. Be generous and kind, I beg of you! Tell me the cause of your anger, the source of what discommodes you, and I shall pledge myself to serve to remedy all and make right what you view as wrong, even at the cost of my very life!”

Now it was Evaleigh who appeared taken aback. For a long moment she looked into the young man’s eyes, searching his countenance, contemplating. Then, at last, she spoke. “Gord, I may have misjudged you. Know you who I am?”

“Only, fair Evaleigh, that you are the most gorgeous woman ever to have walked our Oerth’s thus blessed soil, and the one for whom I would most gladly die!”

“Spare me these plights, Gord, no matter how sincerely meant and well-spoken. Answer me directly: Do you know who I am?”

“The woman of my dreams, the one I love, the charge of Lord Dhaelhy…. That is the full recital!”

Evaleigh slipped her small hand into Gord’s as he spoke thus. Standing close and staring into his face, she asked, “And that is all?”

“On everything I honor and cherish, lady, that is all.”

“Then hear what I am about to relate….”

Within a few moments, Gord had the essence of her story. Evaleigh was a captive, being held for ransom by Stoink. Her land was far to the east, and her father was Dunstan, Count of Blemu and Lord of Knurl. Boss Dhaelhy was keeping her intact, as it were, pending a reply from her father to a demand of ten thousand orbs for Evaleigh’s safe return to her home. Time was beginning to grow short, for several months had passed without response from the Noble Grace of Blemu. Unless she was ransomed soon, Evaleigh would be sold off to the leader of Rookroost, Plar Teoud Fent, who had offered Dhaelhy treasure and alliance for her. To be sure, ten thousand gold pieces outweighed the sums proffered by Rookroost, vague alliances aside, but meat in the pot was worth far more than magic in the promise, as they said. Thus, the upshot was that Evaleigh was bound for the tender mercies of concubinage of the Plar unless her father’s emissaries soon reached Stoink… or fate intervened!

“Sold? They would sell you?” said Gord when her downcast eyes told him that her tale was told.

“As surely as my father fails to pay my ransom.”

“No one can sell you, Evaleigh. You’re a baroness-and the most beautiful girl in the world!”

“Don’t raise your voice so,” she cautioned softly. “And thank you, Gord.”

“Don’t thank me yet, dear lady. Wait until Stoink is behind us, and then you may say thus.”

Evaleigh looked up at him for a moment, the moonlight making her eyes gleam marvelously. Gord was unused to looking down upon a woman, for his height was such that most girls were nearer to par with him. But this gorgeous creature stood only an inch over five feet, and Gord felt like a hero already as she silently beseeched him to make good his intimation of rescue.

“We must return to the palace now, or they will become suspicious,” Evaleigh said, moving away from him toward the pathway leading to the hall. She still held his hand, lightly, and Gord moved to retain the contact.

“When shall I see you again?” he asked.

“Never, unless you make the opportunity,” she whispered. “Do you think that pig in there allows anyone as young and handsome as you to be near me?”

Handsome… she had called him that! Gord felt as though he were floating above the ground, as tall as a titan. “I shall soon devise a way then!” he responded with great vigor.

“I’ll pray it is so,” Evaleigh said, and gave him a soft little kiss on the cheek, so swiftly and briefly that the guards did not see, and even Gord was uncertain for an instant that it had, in fact, happened. “We approach the sty, so I can no longer be civil, but you are my champion!”

Stiff and straight, Evaleigh entered the palace ahead of Gord. Without another word, she was gone, leaving Gord to return to the celebration. The great hall was only slightly less crowded. Trestles removed, the revelers were now engaged in serious drinking, while a motley assortment of entertainers performed in various parts of the long chamber. As he approached the place of honor, Gellor sidled up to him.

“Your face is as long as a troll’s snout, Gord,” his companion said. “Better put another expression on it, or the boss might be offended.”

“Screw him!” Gord spat.

“Oh, ho! So Lady Evaleigh has scored a conquest, has she?”

“Leave her out of this, Gellor!”

Without showing any umbrage, the one-eyed thief took Gord firmly by the arm and halted his progress toward Lord Dhaelhy’s dais. “For your continued health, listen!” he said. “That woman is a treasure of great value, and guarded thus. If a man sees one who is desirous of stealing his wealth, he acts-get my meaning? Now smile, relax, and we’ll hoist a few tankards! We’re honored guests, you know, and likely to get some companionship from the ambitious ladies here.”

Gord still looked sour, but he slowly nodded acceptance of the advice. “Thanks, Gellor. You’re right,” he said, regaining his composure as he did so.

“Good. I hear that Evaleigh is bound for Rookroost in a few days anyway.”

Chapter 18

A patch of shadow detached itself from the dark space between two of the buildings. For a brief moment only it seemed manlike in shape as it moved swiftly and noiselessly across the starlit courtyard. Then it was gone, enveloped in the umbra of the other structure toward which it had drifted. Only a bat had seen the shadow-figure, and it cared nothing about it. Sharp-eyed sentries hired for their ability to see well in darkness had noticed nothing, and the squad of soldiers that passed the area a few seconds later noticed the bat flutter overhead, but saw no more.

Gord was clad in black, head covered by a soft felt cap of inky hue, face smeared with lamp soot, hands gloved in ebon leather. Long training and practice enabled him to move without noise, and this silent progress was but a part of his skill. Clad as he was, Gord could become virtually invisible, using small projections, indentations, and shadow to conceal his presence.

It had been an easy matter for him to scale the wall around the complex, ease down the other side, and then disappear among the buildings of the fortresslike compound within which the lord of Stoink dwelled and the city’s government was administered. However, crossing the broad expanse of Hall Street a few moments earlier had not been quite so simple, for there were late-night passersby out strolling, and sentries on the outer wall before him to be contended with. Gord had utilized a passing night-soil cart, smelly as it was, to mask his approach, and then he had been forced to remain frozen, prone against the base of the wall, until a group of off-duty guards quit conversing with their fellows atop the wall and went on their way up Safe Avenue.

The outer wall of the building he was adjacent to had many projecting stones and cracks. Gord’s ascent was much the same as that of a normal person climbing a ladder-although a normal person attempting such a climb as the young thief made would find it next to impossible. Once atop the structure, he continued his oblique progress toward the palace, moving up and down as easily as normal folk went back and forth along the ground. He utilized the concealment of another nearby building, then the south inner wall, to move west to where he could easily see the palace’s tall turrets and towers showing faint black silhouettes against the pale stars. Once, Gord had to hang by his fingertips over a ledge as a sentry slowly paced by. Then he was scrambling up at a juncture where the lower wall of the administrative compound met the higher barrier around the palace proper.

Now he must be doubly careful, for this area was teeming with guards. The inner bailey of the castlelike palace was only twenty or so feet below him, although the drop to the park on the outer side was over thirty. The palace was built on a small hill, and the ground had been terraced long ago to make the place into a stronghold capable of withstanding siege. As a sentry approached, Gord hung at arms’ length over the inside of the wall and allowed himself to drop. His fall, roll, and recovery made little more than a whisper and soft thump. Shadow hid his position, and the patrolling soldier continued on along the top of the wall, unaware that an intruder was within the place.

Understanding that he may well encounter magical as well as flesh-and-blood protections, Gord had opted for a bold plan. He ran along the base of the palace wall, for the bailey was deserted, and the darkness hid his motion. Where the angle of the wall met the great tower at the southwestern end of the palace proper, he sprang upward and stood upon the tiny ledge provided by the arch of the locked portal beneath.

Unmoving, hardly breathing as he plastered his body against the stone, Gord watched the bronzewood gate open and light spill out into the compound. A half-dozen guards came out, the door was banged shut, and the group walked away toward their barracks tower, chatting. Their torches might have revealed Gord’s presence, if any of the soldiers had bothered to look behind and up. In another minute, Gord was halfway up the tower, moving with speed verging on recklessness. However, he made the ascent without a slip, and about sixty feet up he moved off onto the steeply pitched roof of the great hall. Another guardsman on the tower’s top, thirty feet above, was dozing and witnessed nothing.

Pausing near a small turret at the northeastern end of the roof, Gord silently unstrapped his ebon-hued backpack. He pulled a dark cloth out of it and carefully removed all traces of black from his visage. Next he divested himself of his black outer garments, then got out and put on a surcoat identifying him as a junior officer of the Constabulary Guard, the body of men-at-arms whose duty it was to protect this very place. He pulled out and strapped on his shortsword, then stuffed the black garb into the pack, which he left tucked into a niche where none but the birds and bats would see it.