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Chapter One
"I swear Father,…" Thwack. "…if you don’t do something about that…" Clang. "…fool blacksmith, I will." Princess Dariellen said, angrily punctuating each pause with a vicious blow of her sword. By the time she was through, the practice post was a mass of splinters. She landed one final resounding blow, then looked earnestly at her father. "If I don’t kill him, Del will. He’s being particularly tiresome to her." Pushing a sweaty tendril of auburn hair out of her eyes, she looked at him imploringly. "You know how angry she gets."
It was all Glaramon could do not to laugh at the look in Dariellen’s green eyes. His young Heir was well known for her explosive temper, while her Feyl companion was rarely anything but cool and self-contained. The King had to think quickly. The young blacksmith was really pushing his luck, and there was no doubt that Dariellen would carry out her threats. She always reacted badly when anybody bothered Del. "Well," he said consideringly, "I suppose I could set him a quest. That would get him safely out of your way for a little while." Stroking his curly, red beard thoughtfully, he continued, "I can’t let you go around killing anyone who annoys you, you know. Let me think on it for a bit, I'm sure I can come up with something suitable." The King nodded decisively, then strode from the practice yard.
Aside from the obvious, the King had his own reasons for keeping Williard in good health. According to the Augurer, he was destined to save the Kingdom one day. Given the unfounded egotism of the man, the King found this hard to credit. Still, one didn't argue with the Augurer. The old crone was a dangerous enemy, and no one knew the extent of her powers. It would hurt nothing to be on the safe side.
Still somewhat dissatisfied, but ultimately resigned, Dariellen watched her father go. She was well versed in his many moods, and pressuring him now would serve no purpose. It would only make him more unlikely to see things her way. Casually batting aside an incoming arrow, she shook off her black mood and set about cleaning up the yard. If she left it looking like this, Garend would have her hide. If the old arms master had told her once, he had told her a thousand times, that only a truly disorganized person would leave such havoc behind her. His censure would be well deserved, she thought as she rooted the new practice pole firmly in place. She was the youngest living Master of all Seven Ancient Arts of War. She couldn't let her guard down for so much as a second. Chaotic thoughts led to disorganized tactics, which in turn led to a fool’s death. It was not a consequence she was prepared to suffer.
Surveying the newly ordered practice yard with satisfaction, Dariellen wiped her grimy hands ineffectually on her worn leathers. Stretching absently, she plucked a thrown dagger out of the air beside her head. It was a common enough occurrence that she showed no surprise. She made no effort to seek out its source, merely responded quietly through clenched teeth. "You’ll have to do better than that. You’d have missed me by a mile." You’d think they’d send a better assassin, she thought ruefully. Becoming the only woman to ever achieve Mastery had earned her a wealth of enemies. The ineffectual assassin mirrored the contempt they felt for her. Smiling grimly, she gathered up her gear and headed for her rooms. Two more daggers and a small dart clattered to the floor in her wake, totally ignored. There was no point in acknowledging them. Sooner or later she knew, they would betray themselves and she would be waiting; ready for a reckoning.
Weary thoughts of a back rub and bath fled the moment she opened the door to her bedchamber. She barely had time to duck the mud-caked boot that slammed into the wall beside her.
Larindel Feyl-Rin was in a towering rage. "I will kill him slowly, painfully." she ground out. Her waist length raven hair swirled about her in a loose cloud as she stormed about the room, searching vainly for something else to throw. A haphazard heap of objects by the door attested to the depth of her anger. "He is such a swine. Maybe I should spit and roast him like one. Yeah, that's it, nice and slow. That would work…"
Alarmed by the uncharacteristically bloodthirsty threats, Dariellen dropped her gear with a crash. If anything had happened to the little scribe, there would be a reckoning like no other. Fear rising in her throat, she crossed the room in two long strides and spun a startled Larindel around to face her. "What’s happened, Del?" The panic she felt was evident in her tone.
One look at the alarmed green eyes, and Larindel burst into gales of helpless laughter. Dariellen’s look of puzzled concern only made her laugh harder. "It was just that ass Williard, Dari." she choked out between bouts of hilarity. "He was particularly rude and obnoxious today. He actually had the nerve to ask me if you were any good in bed, or if he should keep a mistress after the wedding."
"That insufferable little prick! I’ve told him about a thousand times that I’ll never marry him, never! And to ask you that…" Dari trailed off weakly as the implication hit her.
"Everybody knows Dari." The little mountain Feyl was practically dancing, her glee evident in her slit-pupilled amber eyes. "Everybody knows, and nobody cares. I told you so. I told you it didn’t matter."
"But, but…" Dari spluttered, "The law… I don’t understand… we were so careful." The sputter was fast becoming a wail and in response, Del’s customary dignity finally reasserted itself.
Taking Dari by the hand, she said quietly, "Your father knows too, love. You’re, um, not exactly quiet. That archaic stricture was expunged from the Roll of Laws months ago. There’s no reason anymore, none at all. Human and Feyl are free to love when and if they will." Laughingly, she tried to change the subject. "Now what are we going to do about that damnable Williard?"
Eyeing her narrowly, Dari said "Already taken care of. Father’s going to set him a quest."
"Something truly vile and disgusting, I hope." Del had a nasty glint in her eye. Suddenly, as if she had just noticed, she said, "You’re absolutely filthy. A bath. That’s it my love, a bath is definitely in order."
"I know it," Dari grinned, "Care to join me?" She stretched out a grimy hand.
Laughing, Del said, "But of course. If you would be so kind as to lead this quest milady?"
Hand in hand, the pair headed for the bath chamber, giggling continually as Del proposed progressively more outrageous quests for the Witless Williard.
(c) M.C. Sak 1999