The Haunted Wizard - Wiz in Rhym-6 (4 page)

The Bretanglian sergeant shouted and leaped in to block the club, his own dagger stabbing. Two Merovencian toughs bellowed in anger and jumped him.

Sir Orizhan ran to help Sergeant Brock, crying, "Put up your weapons, I beg you!" A Merovencian tough whacked him with a club. He fell back into the arms of the nobleman, who tossed him aside in disgust, leaving him to rise again or not, as the fortunes of battle might have it. Then the Bretanglian nobleman took a firmer hold on his dagger and went after Pargas again as two Merovencians
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jumped on Sergeant Brock. Two of Brock's troopers ran to help, and four Merovencians fell on them. As one, the foreigners turned on the locals, and in seconds the whole room was one huge brawl. Stools swung as weapons. Men lifted other stools as shields. Knives streaked, clubs cracked, and men bellowed rage at one another.

Then a scream cut across the shouting, a scream of such horror and anguish that all the men froze and turned to stare.

Laetri was shoving herself into a corner, screaming and screaming, and Pargas, bleeding from half a dozen knife cuts, stood in front of her, panting but with his club still raised— and staring, appalled at the same sight that terrified Laetri.

The Bretanglian nobleman lay on his back in a pool of his own blood, a bruise on his forehead, his eyes wide and staring but seeing nothing, nor would those eyes ever see anything again. The silence of shock gripped the whole room. Then Sergeant Brock shook off the brawler who had fallen on top of him, shoved himself to his feet and sprang to the fallen man. "Your Highness!" Sir Orizhan moaned, sick with dread.

"Highness?" Dread washed over Pargas' features.

"Of course!" the sergeant shouted. "You knew he was no common soldier, no matter how he was dressed!" He glared at Laetri. "You have been honored with the touch of the heir to the throne of Bretanglia, woman—Gaheris, Prince of Wales!"

"Hon—Honored?" Laetri could only touch the bruise on her cheek, a sob catching in her throat. Then the innkeeper pointed, howling. "Stop him!"

Whirling, everyone saw the man just as he sprang out the window and into the night. With the howl of the hunting pack, locals and visitors alike tore out the door to give chase. The innkeeper turned to Pargas and Laetri, shooing them toward the kitchen. "Out of my house, scoundrels! Out the back door and into the alley, for I'll have no more of your troublemaking here!" Half a dozen Bretanglian soldiers stepped into their path, and a hard hand caught the innkeeper's arm. He turned to see Sir Orizhan, flint-eyed and grim. "A nice try, landlord, and you might indeed have helped your friends escape—but I am the companion assigned to protect the prince, and I'll not take the blame for this alone! Corin! Ferol! Bind these three and take them to the castle—and do it quickly, before that rat pack comes back!"

Alisande's lady-in-waiting laid down the brush. "There! Your Majesty's hair glistens like the sun! Shall I braid it?"

"I shall do that myself tonight." Alisande stood up, clad in only her shift and long blond hair. "I thank you for your ministrations, ladies, but I shall tell you good-night now. It has been a long and wearying day."

"Good night, then, Your Majesty " The senior lady curtsied, and the others after her. They went out the door, already beginning to murmur in amazement at their young sovereign's strength in standing against
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the worst arguments and tempers of her royal guests.

The door closed behind them—and Alisande turned to throw open the other door, the one that connected to Matt's suite. He stood there waiting and came in, arms up to embrace. Alisande all but fell into them, buried her face in his shoulder and let herself go limp at last, let herself stop being strong, let herself take refuge for a few moments in her husband's love. "What a horrible family!" she said into Matt's chest.

"Not the worst I've seen, but certainly in the running for second place," he agreed. "With so much bickering, it's a wonder they can govern their kingdom at all!" Alisande pushed herself a little away, though not far. "You cannot entirely blame Petronille if she is a virago, though— not with a husband like that."

"What—aside from the fact that she doesn't dare turn her back on him for a second? Look at it this way, Drustan's entirely dependable—she can depend on him to betray her anytime he takes it into his head to want something that might hurt her!"

"Well, be fair to him," Alisande said with a half smile. "He never stops to mink whether or not his actions will hurt her, or anyone else."

"Right. He knows what he wants, and he sets about getting it, and if anybody gets in his way, too bad." Alisande shuddered. "How could a woman marry a man like that?"

"Oh, I expect he looked a lot better twenty years ago,** Matt said, "when he was new to kinging, and didn't realize how much power he had yet."

"Which he may have learned from her, if the tales of her former marriage are to be believed," Alisande said.

"She did kind of run her first husband, didn't she? But after all, she was the one who'd been born with a title."

"Yes, and he was only a knight errant, though a handsome one by all accounts." Alisande sighed. "One wonders why he died so young."

"Delayed action from an old wound, no doubt. Riding the tournament circuit can be dangerous."

"So can Petronille," Alisande said darkly. She went to sit down and stare into her mirror. "Could I ever be like that, husband?"

"Only if I didn't do my job right." Matt came up behind her, caught a stray blond lock and began to wind it about his finger. "No, I don't think you could ever be that selfish, love. You're too busy fighting off rebels and invaders, and trying to find some way to make life better for your people."

"Sometimes it is hard to know right from wrong," Alisande said, "and one step to the wrong can begin a long slide to perdition and tyranny. What of our children, husband? How can we prevent them from becoming like those boys?"

"By being as loving to one another and to them as we can," Matt said, remembering his own parents. "I
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don't think the Bretanglian princes learned insulting and pettiness on their own, after all. They tend to do what they see their parents do."

"There's truth in that," Alisande said somberly. "I've never seen a man who matched that Gaheris for pure malice. How could the Prince of Toulenge ever have betrothed his daughter to such a one?" Matt shrugged. "She was only ten at the time, and I suspect Gaheris looked a lot better at fourteen. Only his parents and the servants knew the truth then."

"And perhaps he had not begun to be such a monster, when he had little power." Alisande sighed. "Poor Rosamund! How she must have suffered in that household!"

"You don't mean she was raised with that family!"

"It is the custom for the fiancée to dwell with her new kin-folk as soon as they are betrothed, husband." Alisande gave him a sad smite, to reassure him for not knowing all her people's customs yet. "She must learn the ways of her new land, you see."

"A ten-year-old girl, being torn away from home and raised among strangers?" Matt shuddered "At least Petronille kept her close by her side."

"So you felt that, too?"

"Oh, yes. Besides, she had some ladies from Toulenge for company, didn't she?”

"Aye, but King Drustan sent them all packing. He could not send Sir Orizhan away, but the ladies he could, and did."

"I've been wondering where he came into the picture. You don't expect to find a man with a southern Merovencian accent living with the Bretanglian royal family. So he was part of the entourage that delivered little Rosamund to Bretanglia?"

"He was appointed as her bodyguard," Alisande told him. "However, King Drustan claimed that there was no need for such while the little lady lived under his protection."

"But he couldn't send a knight away when he was under orders from his own duke?"

"Not without grievous insult to his new kinsman, no. Instead, Drustan assigned Sir Orizhan to tutoring his own sons in chivalry, and to keeping them from harm."

"Broadened his assignment from one child to four, eh?" Matt frowned "Could be that worked out for the best If he kept an eye on the princes, he could make sure they didn't bother Rosamund too much."

"There is that saving grace," Alisande agreed "However, since she is so very reserved, it would appear there were times when he could not protect her."

"Sure—whenever King Drustan or Queen Petronille were there. Maybe the queen dotes on her sons a bit more than she seems to."

"I would say she does not seem to dote at all,” Alisande said tartly, "except for her favorite, and he has not turned out so badly."

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"Brion? Yeah, he does seem to have some sense of right and wrong. I have to give the code of chivalry that much credit. Of course, his brothers know right from wrong, too. They just happen to choose Wrong."

"John makes my skin crawl," Alisande said with a shudder. "No doubt I wrong him—he seems harmless enough, in spite of his constant whining…"

"Not smart enough to be any danger? Hey, I've known some pretty dumb monsters, dear."

"Perhaps," Alisande allowed, "but it is not his fault that his face is a mass of pimples and his body inclined to plumpness."

"Still, it doesn't exactly speak of good hygiene or healthy habits," Matt pointed out. "How anyone who claims to practice swordplay out in the tilting yard so much can still have a pasty complexion with a poolroom pallor, I can't understand."

"He certainly seems to be a horrid little man." Alisande frowned. "What is a 'poolroom'?"

"A place for indoor recreation, dear, like the board games that keep our knights from chopping each other to bits during the winter."

"Only chess and the like?" Alisande smiled up at him. "I had hoped for another form of indoor recreation tonight. I need the consolation badly."

"Well, I hope I don't do badly with my consolation." Matt leaned down to kiss her—but before his lips touched hers, there was a knock at the door.

Alisande's lips went stiff. Matt froze for a second, then straightened with a sigh. "I could wish that the world would leave us alone for a day or two."

"I would be glad of an hour!" Alisande turned her chair to the door and sat, squaring her shoulders.

"Enter!"

Lady Dulcet opened the door and stepped in, her face drawn and pale. "Your pardon, Majesty, but Sir Orizhan is come from town with urgent news…"

Alisande whirled to snatch up her robe and slip her arms through the sleeves. "Bid him enter!" Lady Dulcet stepped aside with an air of relief. Sir Orizhan entered, stiffly erect, face taut with strain. He fell to one knee. "My liege!"

"I am, and great is the loyalty of one who remembers such when he has sojourned nearly ten years in a foreign court," Alisande assured him. "Whatever your news, speak it straight out, no matter how grim!" Sir Orizhan braced himself even more. "It regards Prince Gaheris." Alisande stiffened "What of him?"

"There … there was a brawl in a tavern," Sir Orizhan told her. "The prince sought to defend the honor of a maiden, and… in the melee…"

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Alisande started out of her chair. "How badly is he hurt?"

"The worst, Majesty. He… he is…"

"Not dead!"

"I fear so, Your Majesty." Sir Orizhan bowed his head as though waiting for the headsman's axe. Alisande sank back in her chair with a moan. She started to bow her head into her hand, then caught herself, unwilling to show such a sign of weakness even to her closest lady-in-waiting. Matt rested a hand on her shoulder. "I think we should take a few minutes in private, to consider the news."

"Indeed!" Alisande said. "I thank you, Sir Orizhan. Please leave us now." The knight rose and started to back away, then hesitated. "I must tell Their Majesties of Bretanglia."

"You must not." Alisande sat straight again. "I shall tell them—yet I must have a few minutes to consider the way of it. Leave us."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." For a moment Sir Orizhan's emotional armor cracked enough to show great relief, and Matt was sure he would be even more loyal to Alisande in the future. The knight backed out, closing the door behind him.

Alisande folded in on herself, letting her head sink into her hands with a groan.

"Yes." Matt rested both hands on her shoulders, trying to ignore his sudden queasiness. "What a mess! I could almost feel sorry for Gaheris "

"I, too, had he not brewed such a coil for us by his passing." Alisande straightened, slamming one fist on the table-top. "Why could he not have stayed within the castle for his amusements!"

"Because his idea of fan was the kind of thing you'd start a war to prevent," Matt said grimly.

"Start a war indeed! We shall be most fortunate if his parents do not declare war on Merovence on the instant!" Alisande stood up slowly, shoulders bearing up bravely against the invisible mantle of authority with its huge weight of responsibility. "Let us face them now." In only her robe and slippers, she went out into the hall and turned toward the chambers reserved for guests of state. Three steps down the hall and they could hear the muted voices shouting at one another, though they couldn't understand the words.

"Even at bedtime they quarrel?" Alisande stared.

"Of course," Matt said. "Why waste a perfectly good chance for a fight?" But as they said it, a Bretanglian sergeant came panting around the corner with half a dozen troopers following. Ignoring his fellow soldiers who guarded their monarchs' portal, he pounded his fist on the door. The arguing inside cut off abruptly.