'Wine?' He proffered a silver goblet.
She accepted it with a murmur of thanks, taking a sip. The wine was cool and rich, tasting of cherries, cloves, and smoke. She looked up at him in surprise. 'It's delicious, Your Grace.'
'For you, my lady, only the finest.'
His words startled her. Once again she thought she saw a hungry light glittering in his green eyes. Yet that was an utterly foolish notion. Caidin was a baron. He could have his pick of dozens of beautiful ladies of high birth. What could he possibly see in a vagabond healer whose blood was common to the last drop? Nothing, Mika told herself firmly. No doubt she had made an utter fool of herself two nights ago with her hasty departure after the feast. Surely she had misjudged his intentions.
Her certainty wavered as his gaze glided over her body like a caress. Hastily she swallowed more of the wine. 'Did I ever tell you about my husband, Your Grace?' she blurted.
A bemused look flickered across his visage. 'I don't recall asking, my lady.'
She nodded jerkily, taking a few steps back. 'His name was Geordin, and he was a tailor. Our daughter's name was Katalia, but I just called her Lia. We lived in a small flat ift II Aluk, overlooking the Vuchar River.' Despite her nervousness, she smiled at the memory. 'Oh, it wasn't much. Certainly nothing so grand as all this.' She gestured around her. 'But I planted geraniums in the box outside the window, and I used to love to look out and watch the gulls whirl and dive over the water.' She sighed deeply. 'We were happy there.'
He poured more wine into her goblet from a crystal decanter. 'Why do you say were, Mika?'
Just three whispered words escaped her lips, yet they explained everything. 'The Crimson Death.' She gulped down more of the wine. Its sweet aroma permeated her head, dulling her remembered sadness.
'I am sorry,' he said quietly. 'But remember, Mika-time will one day heal your hurting.'
'No,' she choked. 'No, I don't want this wound to heal. Because… because then…'
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, trying to still her shaking. She tried to pull away, but the baron would not let her.
'Because then it might mean you no longer love him?' Caidin finished for her. 'Is that what you think?'
She nodded.
'Look at me, Mika.' Reluctantly, she let his powerful hands turn her around. 'I would never presume to take away the sorrow of your past. But won't you let me grant you some joy-now, here, tonight?'
She shook her head in confusion. She felt dizzy- the wine, of course. She should not have drunk so much. It was difficult to think.
'I… I don't…'
His hands squeezed her tightly. She could feel the warmth radiating from him. By her soul, he was a handsome man.
'Please, Mika.'
Geordin! she cried silently. What am I to do? Yet it was another voice that seemed to speak the faint words that fell from her lips. 'Perhaps, Your Grace. For just a short while…'
The baron's dark mustache curled in a smile. He lifted her off her feet, whirling her around. The silver cup slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. Dimly, she heard lilting music. Holding her around the waist, Caidin whisked her about in a whirling dance. It was like a delirious dream. Mika's senses were filled with the sweet strains of the music, the rustling of her velvet gown, and his body brushing against hers. It felt as if she were slipping beneath the surface of a lake, only the water was so wonderfully warm that she had to believe that drowning would be a pleasure.
A dull glint caught her eye. As they spun by, Mika saw that it was the silver goblet she had dropped on the floor. Red wine spilled from it, pooling like blood. Suddenly the wine evaporated, as if absorbed into the floor, and she glimpsed the images in the mosaic as they began to move.
Two shining armies marched toward each other across a green landscape. The serene, cruel-eyed gods floating in the clouds directed the creatures below like pieces on a gameboard. The mosaic armies clashed, swords gleaming. Chips of red- ochre stained the verdant landscape. The gory images shocked Mika to her senses. With all her strength, she pushed herself away from the baron, gasping for air.
Caidin watched her with a perplexed expression. 'What is wrong, my lady?'
'Nothing, Your Grace. I… I only…' In desperation, she searched for something-anything- to say. 'I only wanted to ask you something.'
He took a step toward her. 'If you require anything, my lady, you have only to request it.'
'In the keep's bell tower, there's a hunchback.' Trying to make it look as if she were not backing away, she edged to one of the tall windows. Her own ghostly image gazed back at her from the darkened glass.
'Yes?' the baron said impatiently.
'He rings the bells,' Mika went on breathlessly. She had to talk fast. It was her only defense. 'I was Wondering if you might be able to help him somehow, Your Grace. You see, he's all alone. And so very sad.' The baron's pale image loomed behind hers in the window.
'You should not go to the bell tower, my lady,' he said gravely.
The word leapt from her lips. 'Why?'
'The hunchback you speak of-he is very dangerous. He is a violent man, perhaps even mad. You put yourself at peril just to go near him.' She saw hatred glitter in the eyes of his reflection.
'Are you certain?' Mika said, suddenly unsure of herself. 'He is… I mean, he seemed…'
'You must not go near the tower again, my lady.' His voice was stern, like a father speaking to a child. 'I implore you.'
Mika only nodded dumbly. She had run out of words. Disturbing thoughts coursed through her mind. Could Wort truly be dangerous? He was so sad, so pitiful, and almost dear in the way he befriended the pigeons in the belfry. Yet, she knew he was also capable of rage. She had witnessed it herself. Still, she could not believe that he would ever harm her.
'Come, let us dance more,' Caidin said, reaching out to take her hand.
Quickly, she turned away. 'I'm sorry, Your Grace, but I must go. Please forgive me. I have patients to see early on the morrow.'
Without waiting for his reply, she picked up the hem of her gown and rushed from the Grand Hall, back to the village, and the inn, and the familiar safety of loneliness.
As he often did when he was upset, Baron Caidin decided to make goblyns.
Dark water dripped down stone walls. Against one wall of the dungeon chamber-leaned an iron sarcophagus. Carved into its lid was the grotesque effigy of a man with a dog's head, lips pulled back from a wrinkled muzzle in a malevolent snarl. The sarcophagus was an intriguing artifact. Caidin had come upon it during his long search for the Soulstone. While not as powerful as the stone, it certainly had its uses. Clad in a robe of executioner's black, Caidin approached the coffin. Grunting, he threw back the heavy lid. Inside was empty darkness.
'Bring in the prisoner, Pock!' he commanded.
A peasant man clad in a ragged brown tunic stumbled through the doorway behind the Baron, hands and feet hobbled by'iron chains. Pock followed, clad in a dark robe that was Caidin's in miniature. The little gnome wielded a curved dagger that was long enough to serve him as a sword.
'Move along!' Pock commanded, waving the sharp dagger at the peasant. The man lurched forward as quickly as he could to avoid the slashing blade. Displaying small, sharp teeth in a nasty grin, Pock skipped after him.
'Enough of your antics, Pock,' Caidin barked. He turned on the peasant. 'You-into the coffin.'
'Please, my lord!' the man wailed fearfully. 'I didn't do anything wrong!'
'So?' Caidin said disinterestedly.
When Pock jabbed his knife at the peasant, the man quickly scurried into the sarcophagus, huddling fearfully.
'What… what's going to happen to me?' he whispered.
'Oh, you'll see,' Caidin replied with a mocking iaugh. 'i' He slammed the sarcophagus shut, sealing the man within. Crimson light glimmered to life in the eyes of the dog-headed effigy carved into the lid. There was a desperate scrabbling sound on the inside of the sarcophagus, followed by muffled moans of pain. The eyes flashed brightly, then went dark. Slowly, Caidin opened the lid.
