Read The Malmillard Codex Online

Authors: K.G. McAbee

Tags: #fantasy, #fantasy romance, #fantasy action, #fantasy worlds, #fantasy adventure swords and sorcery, #fantasy about a wizard, #fantasy alternate world, #fantasy adventrue fantasy, #fantasy with wizards

The Malmillard Codex (7 page)

BOOK: The Malmillard Codex
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"Let's find a blade, then see about
passage."

***

The Street of the Artificers was a grand
name for a muddy length of narrow passageway that stretched between
shabby buildings, some inhabited, some gutted by fire or age, some
looking as if they'd been abandoned to their fate far in the
distant past. Rows of stalls lined the already too narrow path,
providing little more that a winding corridor, open to the sky and
clogged by humans and animals going in all directions.

Val watched in silent curiosity as Madryn
made her careful way, nose buried against one arm, around a vendor
with baskets of flowers, including roses of all hues. He followed
her, remembering how she'd had Frague remove roses from their room
at the Toad.

An exhibit of special squalor and despair
greeted Val at one point on their journey down the twisting,
humanity-laden pathway. On a platform set against a filthy,
tumbledown heap of stones, slaves were linked one to the other with
a single chain. Trails of dried and fresh blood leaked from the
leather collars that were the badge of their caste; they were being
offered for sale.

"Slaves, best to be had," whined the
slavemaster, his bored voice sounding as age-old and world-weary as
the chant itself. "Slaves for sale, finest in all the lands."

Val tried to fight down the cold chill that
went through him as he passed the platform, even though he was sure
that the scars from his own recently removed collar were not
visible under his shirt and jerkin. Eyes drawn against his will, he
cast a curious glance at the selection. A motley crew of dirty,
scabby and flea-bitten wretches, the refuse of a dozen towns and
villages, cast out or born to the life, or sold to pay their debts.
A lone child, a scrawny thing of no determinate gender, watched
with red-rimmed eyes the antics of a tiny monkey at the next
stall.

"Sir," called the slavemaster, his practiced
eye seeing that Val's gaze had lingered a bit too long on his
string of merchandise. "May I interest your lordship in a slave?
Someone to cook your food, to care for your attire, to provide for
your needs?"

"No," Val snapped as he tried to hurry on.
Madryn had almost disappeared into the crush in front of him. Then,
thinking that the slavemaster gazed at him with a curious turn of
the head, he paused and looked harder at the selection. "No," he
said, in firmer if politer tones, "not today, I think. But I
congratulate you on your selections; they are most impressive."

"Most impressive, says the lord gentleman,"
repeated the slavemaster in a loud, singsong voice. "Come one, come
all, to see my most impressive selection of slaves, recommended by
a gentleman and lord of the highest birth and quality."

A toothless slave, his collar loose about a
scrawny, withered neck, offered Val a smile that looked like the
entrance to a dark cave.

Val pushed his way forward to catch up with
Madryn.

***

Madryn stood waiting for him at a storefront
that was set back from the street, actually inside one of the
scabrous buildings that lined the thoroughfare. The glitter of
polished steel, bronze and copper gleamed from within the shadowy
depths of the store.

"Slave shopping, Val?" Madryn asked.

Val gave her a sickly grin. "An odd
sensation," he whispered, sure she would not be able to make out
his words.

But she did. "I know the feeling," she
replied cryptically.

Then she nodded toward the storefront. Above
the entrance was emblazoned a sign, embroidered in dingy orange
silk, which shouted 'Swords for the Discerning Buyer' in three
languages and the runic glyphs of the sacerdotal saragins of
Syercyh. Beneath the sign in sprawling letters the name 'Baragin'
was gouged into the dry wood over the low doorway, by someone who
had not made any use of the sharp blades whose images littered the
outside walls. Each tilting letter looked as if it had been chewed
into the ancient wood and stone.

"This appears to be our destination," Madryn
said as she studied the display for a time, then entered the open
door.

Val followed close behind.

"My lady and gentleman!" called a
high-pitched voice in dulcet tones. A reed-thin figure, dressed in
trailing robes of clashing and particularly virulent shades of
green and orange, swirled into view from the back of the shop,
making a careful way between tables heaped with daggers. The inside
walls were hidden beneath scabbards, some empty, some filled out
with sword, rapier or saber.

"How delicious to see such discerning folk
on this dreary, depressing day," continued the figure in lisping,
pleasant tones as it made its way towards them. It stopped, peered
up through shortsighted eyes. "Pray, what can I offer you that
would match your elegant albeit distressingly monochromatic
outfits?"

The figure, in the somewhat brighter light
near the door, was revealed to be a slight man with a face like a
ferret. His tiny feet peeped coyly from beneath his silken robes,
and wafting waves of heavy scent did little to hide an underlying
odor of unwashed body. "I am the unworthy Baragin, a poor purveyor
of the finest steel in all Karleon. Are you in the market for a
sword, a dagger, perhaps an axe or three?" The man's words trickled
and fell from his mouth like endless drops of water breaking the
surface of a still pond. "I have the best selection in a hundred
league radius, as well as the best prices. Not," Baragin
interrupted his flow, twisting his hands obsequiously, "not, of
course, that that would make any difference to customers such as
you
, certainly. You are, it is most obvious, well provided
with more than your share of the riches of the world." This last
was offered in a sad little voice that fairly seeped with unshed
tears.

"We need—that is, my companion needs a
sword, Master Baragin," Madryn began, trying and failing to hold
back a smile.

"Well, of course he does," Baragin agreed,
as if they argued the fact and he must convince them. "Such a
strong arm cannot do without an even stronger blade. A heavy and
wide steel, I think, tempered with just the faintest touch of
copper for strength, and a hilt wrapped in the finest leather and
studded—studded, mind you—with nails of silver." Baragin gave Val a
gentle shove with one unwashed finger toward an errant sunbeam that
had managed somehow to find its way into the shop from the street
outside. "By your leave, my dear lord, but just allow me to measure
your length of arm and breadth of shoulder. A professional such as
my humble self would never deign to offer you anything that would
not be of a correct and proper size and weight, naturally. Why, I
have been the purveyor of the most desired and treasured blades for
years, aye, and my father before me and his mother before him."

A strip of coarse linen, marked off in
regular increments, appeared from under Baragin's grimy robe. Val
good-naturedly allowed himself to be positioned by the meager
shopkeeper in the brightest section of the shop. Slender dirty
fingers handled the ribbon of measured linen as if it were a thing
alive, whipping it across Val's shoulders and along his arm. These
swift movements were accompanied by mystical mutterings,
interspersed with cries of wonder and amazement.

"Remarkable. Astounding. Incredible,"
chirped Baragin as he whirled and spun about, his scent thick in
the cluttered, musty room. Madryn gave a disapproving sniff and
stayed as far from the little man as she could.

At last, the measurements were done to the
master's satisfaction. Baragin stood back, gazing in unabashed
admiration at Val.

"Sir, I think that I have the perfect weapon
for you. Pray step to the back with me, so that you may see it and
judge for yourself. Also," he added with a wink, "there's a bit
more room, so that you may swing the blade and give me your expert
opinion as to its weight and heft. Sir, my lady. If you will follow
your poor servant?"

Val threaded his careful way past the
multitude of obstructions in the shop, followed closely by Madryn.
Their diminutive host twisted and turned, his flowing robes keeping
clear of sharp and pointed metal by some familiar magic of its
own.

The back door of the shop opened onto a
wide, debris-littered alley that smelled of fish and garbage.
Still, there was an open area just outside that was wide
enough—just—to swing a sword.

The blade that Baragin had seized on his
way, in a sleight-of-hand fashion that Val was barely able to
notice, was a wide bladed beauty that glittered like silver in the
sunlight. Its hilt felt comfortable in Val's grip, as welcoming as
an old friend. He swung it with pleasure, happy to have a weapon to
hold again. His days as a gladiator had been far from happy—what
slave ever had happy days?—but there were some few pleasant
memories. The studies in the vast, dim libraries, full of tomes on
ancient and modern methods of fighting—for gladiators were the
princes of slaves, all taught to read early in their training, to
increase in yet another way their knowledge of mayhem and
destruction. The daily training with every sort of weapon and with
bare hands, the satisfaction to see abilities and knowledge grow
day by day, the joy in remaining alive when others about you are
dying, some by your own hand…these things had brought some small
measure of pleasure.

Val cut at a pole that protruded from the
side of the building, giving it a glancing blow that rang the steel
in his hand like a bell. He nodded in satisfaction and grinned at
Madryn.

"It seems that you have made a sale, Master
Baragin," said Madryn. "How much for such a magnificent blade?"

Thus, Baragin and Madryn entered into the
time-honored bargaining phase of the transaction. Val continued to
swing and turn with the blade, testing its strength and weight
against his own. The murmur of offer and counter offer died away
behind him as he gazed at the shining steel with admiration and a
kind of gloating satisfaction. A slave would, could never be in
possession of any kind of a blade, no matter how small, unless
fighting in the arena for the entertainment of his or her betters.
The sheer exhilaration of simply holding such a blade as this
spread through Val like a drug, singing along his sinews, echoing
through his muscles. The memory of feints and parries, cuts and
thrusts, came back to his arms and shoulders, reoccurred to his
dormant hands like the memory of old lovers.

"Val, my dear?"

Before he could stop it, Val felt his mouth
fall open at the endearment. He turned, the sword forgotten in his
hand. Baragin was grinning like a mouse at a heap of cheese, a pile
of silver and gold coins in one dirty hand. Madryn was watching
Val, her head cocked to one side, her long mouth quirked upward at
one end.

"Master Baragin has offered us both a new
dagger, to finish the deal. Will you pick them out for us? I
surrender to your greater knowledge."

Val tried, but could not remove the grin
that he felt plastered across his mouth. He knew his eyes must be
sparkling with delight.

Well,
he thought.
I'm supposed to
be her friend, am I not? I'm supposed to be Lord Valaren
Starseeker. Why don't I thank her properly for my gift?

Without further thought, Val ran over and
scooped Madryn up into a hearty hug, his cheek pressed against
hers, the sword hanging loose but not forgotten in one hand.

Baragin surveyed the two with satisfied
eyes.

Val's face was smothered against Madryn's
tawny hair. He could smell a faint scent that lingered there, a
gentle reminder of fresh air and green grass in this odorous, slimy
alley. The feel of her lean, firm body against his brought on that
sudden and totally irresistible heat, the desire that he had been
unable to control from the day he'd first met her.

But this time, for the first time, a joyous
and remarkable thing occurred. Val felt and answering heat in the
body pressed to his, heard a faint gasp of pleasure—or was it
pain—from the mouth that was almost against his own. Was that
Madryn's heart, pounding, sending tremors through both their
frames, or was it his own?

Madryn gently disentangled herself. Her face
was flushed, her violet-gray eyes narrowed.

"I'm so glad you liked your present, Val,"
she murmured—in that arrogant, condescending tone that was icy
water against his passion. "But pray, let us get our daggers and be
gone."

Chapter Five

The rest of the
day was strained and difficult for both Val and Madryn…until they
were attacked that evening after supper.

The trip back through the crowded streets
from Baragin's shop was strangely silent for both of them. Val
spent the time wondering what Madryn must think of his clumsy,
hasty way of thanking her; wondering if she were insulted at being
touched so by a slave; embarrassed by his blatant desire for her.
He had not…he had never intended to make it so obvious, so
apparent.

And he had never expected, never dreamed to
find that Madryn returned his desires, even in the slightest and
most unconscious degree. Perhaps that was what had angered her? The
silence that came over the two of them in Baragin's shop continued
throughout the rest of the day, and even Val's pleasure in the
shining sword that swung with such reassurance at his waist, the
sturdy feel of the specially chosen dagger that rested in one boot,
could not assuage his unease and his discomfort.

Would Madryn leave him now? Would she go on
her way without him? She had made him no promises, had not even
told him where she was going or if she would take him with her.
But, a tiny voice whispered apprehensively in his mind, she had
brought him so far already; surely she had some plan for him? What
could she want with him; what possible use could an escaped slave
be to her, a rich noblewoman? Why, Val knew very well, she could
buy a dozen like him in the slave markets of any of the larger
cities, could no doubt find one or two of his size even here, in a
tiny backwater like Karleon.

BOOK: The Malmillard Codex
5.27Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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