blows as possible, but even he could not delay the inevitable. He caught sight of the bottle descending upon his head before darkness claimed him.
Terys Van stood with arms folded, surveying the damage in the tavern’s common room. Wooden tables and chairs lay overturned or smashedSplinters of wood and broken shards of glass and crockery crunched under the booted tread of his guardsmen. Here and there, he spotted small clumps of bloodied rushes, and the occasional tooth. The stench of stale beer and cheap smoke mingled with the sour musk of sweat, producing the familiar smell of desperation.
Fourteen years as a sentinel in the city watch, however, had pretty much inured him to the darker and more violent aspects of life in Rel Mord. So it was with a somewhat bored nod of his head that Terys acknowledged the young guardswoman who stood at attention to his left, waiting to offer her report.
“Typical bar fight, sir,” the smartly uniformed guard spokeat his signal. “No deaths. Three wounded seriously. The clerics are seeing tothose. They’ll be ready to meet the king’s judgment. The rest are being escortedto the prison now.”
“Good work,” he responded. The entire investigation had beenquick and efficient. The sentinel was calculating the time it would take him to stamp the paperwork through and head home for the night when he noticed the guardswoman still standing stiffly to his side.
“What is it, Kendra?” he snapped. He was in no mood forcomplications.
“Sir,” the young guard straightened at her commander’s tone,“several witnesses identified the one who started the fight.”
She pointed to a spot near the bar, where a bear of a man leaned heavily against the wall, arms bound behind his back. Blood covered his tunic, and even from his position, Terys could make out an angry bruise beginning to blossom on one side of his face.
“I see,” he said, dismissing the guardswoman with a sharpwave of his hand. “I’ll handle it from here.”
“But, sir,” Kendra called out, “I think-”
Another wave of his hand silenced the protesting guard. “Isaid that I would take it from here, Corporal.” He sent her to deal with theproprietor of the tavern, who was complaining loudly about the loss to his business.
The prisoner looked up as he approached, and Terys’ stepsfaltered for just a moment. The man’s face was handsome enough, even with therapidly deepening bruise, but his eyes-they were hard eyes, steel blue andpenetrating. The eyes of a killer.
The guard stopped a few feet from the sulking prisoner, leaving enough room to draw his sword should the need arise. The man was still drunk, evidenced by his slightly swaying posture and his rapid, irregular breath, but there was no reason to leave himself completely vulnerable should the man’s anger overcome his common sense.
Terys ran calloused fingers across his goatee, in a move calculated to disguise his own tension. He regarded the prisoner briefly, hoping that the interrogation would move along quickly so that he could finish up for the night, but the man’s flat gaze revealed nothing.
Puzzled, he drew breath to speak but was cut off by the sound of a feminine voice. “There you are, Captain. I’m glad to see you’ve finallyarrived.”
Terys flinched. The voice was rich and textured, almost sultry, but even he could hear the biting tone of self- conscious authority mixed with reflexive disdain. Noble, he thought. No doubt slumming the Poor Quarter, looking for some lowborn excitement before she returned to the trying world of servants and sumptuous meals. It wasn’t that uncommon. He just wished it hadhappened on someone else’s watch.
He turned to face the source of the voice, hoping that his face disguised the frustration he was feeling, and caught his breath. Before him stood one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen. She smiled gracefully, throwing exquisite features into stunning relief, and all at once he felt an ungainly fool. It wasn’t until he gazed at the gold ring and matching medallion,etched with the long-antlered stag, symbol of House Damar, that he realized just how complicated his evening had become.
“Milady, I was simply going to interrogate the prisoner,” heresponded, looking back at the hulking drunk.
“Well,” the noble said, ice creeping into her voice, “I wouldhardly call a friend of the daughter of the Duke of Flinthill a prisoner now-”she paused “-would I?”
Terys swallowed hard. This wasn’t going well at all.“Milady,” he managed to force out the words, “other witnesses name this man thecause of the evening’s… brutalities. I do have my orders. He must bedetained and questioned.”
“Nonsense,” she exclaimed. “You will release him at once, andI will take full responsibility for his actions. I’ve already paid the
“B-but my orders…” Terys stammered. “Surely you understandthat I have to follow procedure on this.”
“Now, Captain,” she said, drawing closer, and he could feelhis face flushing red at their proximity, “I would hate to have to tell the citycommander that I had difficulty with one of his captains the next time I see him at dinner.”
The threat was as real as it was politely delivered, and Terys found himself backed into a corner. Enforcing the law was his duty, but the labyrinthine complexity of Nyrondese politics was not unknown to him. The city commander would not appreciate the daughter of one of the major noble houses of the realm criticizing his troops. On the other hand, a favor delivered now might cause this Damarian daughter to smile upon the commander’s efforts,something he would surely reward the one who dispensed the original favor.
“Well, Milady. If you are taking responsibility for this.. gentleman, then who am I to gainsay you? I will release him,” he replied, andordered one of his subordinates to loosen the man’s bonds.
And may you both be damned, he thought.
“Thank you, Captain. I’m glad that we could come to such anunderstanding.” She smiled again, the graceful upturn of her lips belying thecondescension that Terys could hear dripping from each word.
Bitch, he thought as he turned to go.
“Oh, and captain, one more thing,” the lady said, “next timewe meet, please feel free to address me as Lady Majandra.” With a toss of herfire-red hair, she put a slim-fingered hand on her companion’s shoulders andguided him out of the tavern.
“Why did you help me?” Kaerion asked. His deep voice stillslurred, though Majandra couldn’t tell if that was from the ale he’d consumed orthe cracked and swelling lip that still bled.
She thought of her answer as they weaved their way through the narrow, angled streets of the Rich Quarter. After their exit from the Men O’Steel tavern, the bard had quickly started to guide them back to the suite atthe Platinum Shield. They had made most of the trip in silence, their quiet journey broken by the whistling of Kaerion’s nose as he drew breath through hisnostrils. It was only after they had entered this section of the city that the man had spoken.
“What good is being noble-born if you can’t use it to youradvantage once in a while?” she said finally as they made their way through theservant’s entrance to the Platinum Shield.
A few of the serving lads and kitchen maids looked askance at their condition, but Majandra paid them no heed. A few silver coins would keep their tongues relatively quiet.
She started to bring Kaerion up the side stairs to her room, but stopped when she heard Bredeth’s arrogant whine close by. She cursed andguided the listing fighter back down the stairs and through a side passage. It wouldn’t do for any of her companions to see Kaerion like this-especiallyBredeth. That highborn dolt would make an issue of it, and she didn’t want torisk the possibility of Kaerion walking away from their offer. They needed him.
Or perhaps you need him, a small voice whispered in her mind. She ignored the implications of that and tried once again to sneak him upstairs. This time, Norebo, god of luck, smiled upon her. Majandra breathed a sigh of relief as she led Kaerion to her bed and closed the door to her suite.
Gently, she helped Kaerion out of his tunic, wincing at the sight of fresh bruises and old scars that marred the sweeping cut of his massive chest and broad back. By the time she tucked silk sheets around his girth, he was half asleep, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
