Knight and Champion Page 14

  A horse pulling a cartload of barrels almost bowled her over as she approached the gates. Feeling light-headed, she realized she hadn’t had a drop of water since the previous night. With no contacts or prospects, Hadley was on a downward spiral of poverty unless she found a way to turn things around. Though the sleepy-looking guard by the wall cast a critical eye her way, she passed through without incident. Under a leafy guard of honor, the street continued before terminating at a bustling four-way intersection. Hadley continued up the hill, figuring a birds-eye view of the area would inform her next move. She passed through an elegant neighborhood of three-storey town houses and hushed, cavernous mercantile hubs offering everything from legal advice to property deeds. A twenty minute trek uphill deposited Hadley at the steps to Saint Anyar Cathedral. The pockmarked white marble had a pleasant, weathered look. If it wasn’t for the stern-faced acolyte by the doors, Hadley might have ventured in for a look. A tiled path squirmed its way through the impeccably maintained grounds and into an inviting arboretum. Hadley found herself drawn to the verdant oasis, marveling at a gallery of exotic trees that had been painstakingly transported from all four corners of Elesta and beyond.

  Not a soul could be seen as she climbed a path that hugged a charming, landscaped stream. She eagerly scooped several handfuls of fresh water into her mouth and down her neck, doing her best to wash away the dirt and crud. By this stage she was behind the cathedral grounds and could see into the graveyard on its northern side. Sunlight pierced a high canopy of cypress and elm, lending the scene a slightly dreamy air. At length Hadley joined a larger path that wound its way around the hill, eventually threading a pair of towering wrought iron gates. Intrigued, Hadley followed the path until she was peering through the iron bars into an impossibly symmetrical garden. She’d reached the summit of Baler’s Hill. Overlook. A three-storey villa sat to her left, which may have been guests’ quarters. Through the sloping, hedge-lined garden to her right rose the Governor’s residence, a silo-shaped keep hewn from the purest local darkstone. Even in the joyous morning sun it seemed swathed in shadow. From her remote vantage point Hadley couldn’t see the yard or the ramparts, but the view from that side must have been magnificent.

  “One day,” she murmured to herself. There was every chance Ballist was in there right now, signing documents with a practiced hand. She pictured a tall man with oily hair sitting with perfect posture at an ornate writing desk. A strong, authoritative man making life-changing decisions for the tens of thousands who called Andra home. One day she would be on the other side of this iron fence. One day she’d be dressed in something that drew every eye that chanced near. It wouldn’t be today or tomorrow, but the future held her vision in the palm of its hand. Scaling Baler’s Hill hadn’t been a waste of time after all. It had afforded her a glimpse of the prize. Whatever happened from here, she’d remember what the iron of these gates felt like.

  Buoyed, Hadley headed back through the arboretum and noticed the back gates to the Cathedral grounds were open. On impulse she slipped through and walked confidently across the smooth lawn. One of the sacristy doors was open. Taking a deep breath, she headed through a shadowy storage room that smelled of dust and incense. She continued down a dark hallway and emerged at the back of the altar. Quiet and sombre, the nave stretched out before her. A scattering of penitents peered at her from the pews - there would be no time to admire the intricate architecture of the A-frame ceiling. Head bowed, Hadley skirted the altar and slid into one of the front rows. The penitents seemed to accept that as a reasonable move, though an acolyte by a side door looked at her sternly. When she was sure the danger had passed, Hadley focused on a particularly jovial fat god on an altar plinth. The jade carving seemed to glow with easy, detached wisdom. Either that or she’d grown delusional in her extreme hunger.

  What was she doing there? Was she simply drawn to the cathedral itself, a landmark she’d always wanted to visit? Or was there another, more troubling reason? On cue, her mind turned to what she suspected she was about to do. It was purely a matter of survival - she needed money or she would die. Throwing herself at the Governor’s feet would only prolong the inevitable. There was absolutely nothing he could do for her. What made her so special? What if Guill hadn’t been the only village to be attacked by elvish forces? No one would cut her an even break in these uncertain times - she would need to take what she wanted for herself.

  An acolyte swinging an incense smoker wandered into the nave. The sharp smell massaged Hadley’s senses and cleared her mind.

  “I’m sorry, papa,” she said softly, finally realizing why she came. A tear slid down her dirty cheek as she exited through a side door.

  Rosebalm wasn’t particularly difficult to find. In the fading light, its purple lanterns glowed like an amethyst necklace. The building itself was impressive, a four-storey riverstone villa with wrap-around balconies. Many folks in the street were walking briskly in the direction of the wall and back to The Bend. A well-armed patrol in the town’s yellow livery were scouring a plaza down the way, forcibly encouraging haste in dawdlers from The Bend. It was now or never if Hadley wanted to approach the villa undetected. Nerves tingling, she stepped under a latticework overflowing with fragrant roses and found herself in a tastefully spartan reception room.

  “How may I help?” smiled a pretty blond girl from behind a dais. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen. Still, she was well-trained. Almost everyone else had recoiled from her that day.

  “I have an unusual matter to discuss with the madame,” Hadley said, hoping she sounded confident. “Is she available?”

  Now the girl did look her up and down.

  “Please wait here,” she said before disappearing behind a curtain.

  Doing her best to stay calm, Hadley listened to sounds of relaxed conversation on the floor above. Would she be up there soon? Should she just turn around and leave? Before her fears could get the better of her, the girl returned.

  “Please,” she said, pulling the curtain back a little. “Take the last door on the right.”

  Hadley smiled and headed into the darkness. The musical laughter of women filtered through the doors she passed. It was more unguarded than the conversation she’d heard earlier, suggesting she was in the girls’ quarters. A young, strikingly attractive brunette wrapped in a scarlet shawl was waiting patiently in the appointed room. A fresh fire crackled from a hearth and the walls were stacked with sheets of parchment. This was a place of business - Hadley had found her mark.

  “My name is Lara,” said the madam, her light brown eyes giving absolutely nothing away.

  “Hadley. I’m a survivor from Guill.”

  It was a response Hadley had prepared in the back of her mind over several hours. She hoped it would explain her shabby condition.

  “A survivor from Guill,” Lara repeated in a flat tone. “There’s a hospice on the western edge of town. I can give you directions.”

  “Please,” Hadley said, more quickly than she intended. “Allow me a bath, perhaps some food. I’d like to do business with you.”

  Lara’s eyes flashed and she fell silent. Hadley was banking on this woman’s ability to see jewels in the mud. She already had the body - she just needed to convince Lara she was a bankable commodity.

  “You a career girl?” Lara asked. “Or just a fly-by-night?”

  Hadley resisted the urge to sigh. This woman was seeing right through her.

  “I have a business to run,” Lara continued. “Arja out front will help you on your way.”

  “I’m intact,” Hadley said quickly. It was the last card she had. This woman would’ve already picked her age to within a few months. Eighteen year old virgins were rare and had to be lucrative. Lara looked coolly at Hadley before ringing a little silver bell.

  “Arja,” she said when her aide arrived. “Is bath three ready?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Give Hadley half an hour. And some food. Then send her back down to me.” />
  Hadley couldn’t prevent a smile from invading her face. It was the small things that meant the world now. A hot bath! Some food! She’d reached such a primitive level of need that she was, for the moment, prepared to overlook what might come later. Arja led her upstairs to a wonderfully quiet room with huge windows that overlooked the street.

  “I’ll come for you,” said the aide before withdrawing. Hadley was alone with a sweet-smelling bath and a plate of bread and cheese. She attacked the latter first, glad that no one was around to witness her gluttony. Bread had surely never tasted so good. Satiated, she relieved herself in a chamber pot, relishing her sliver of privacy. As she settled in the piping hot bath, she speculated whether she should just do a runner when Arja returned for her. After all, a bath and some food went a long way. But her pile of soiled clothes pulled her back to reality. She still had no money, no prospects. Hunger would still be waiting for her on the morrow. No - she was tied to her immediate fate. All she could do right now was savor the hot water. She let it soak into her bones as she looked down on the dark street. Far better to be in here than out there. She wondered what the town guards would do if they found her.

  Thoughts of Devon arrived unbidden.

  “You’ll always be my princess,” he would say by her bedside, caressing her cheek with a father’s veneration. “No one can take that away from you.”

  A single tear slid down Hadley’s cheek, a cold shard in the steam.

  “I’m still your princess,” she said softly, her heart breaking. “Wherever you are, please believe me.”

  Arja knocked politely after a generous half hour. By that stage Hadley was wrapped in a towel and felt more like her normal self. The aide pulled a dress rack into the chamber.

  “Feel free to choose,” she said. “Lara suggested something white.”

  Hadley nodded, stifling a pang of anxiety. If this thing was going to happen, she needed to look the part. She selected a simple silk number and slipped into it. It was a half size too small, which served to emphasize her bust.

  “Excellent choice,” Lara said, stepping into the room. She sat at a small desk in the corner and produced a quill and parchment from the draw.

  “What are your terms?” she asked.

  Hadley blinked, taken aback by the madam’s businesslike manner.

  “A once-only deal,” she said firmly. “I think we both know that I’m not here for the long haul.”

  Now Lara did look at her - a shrewd, hard look.

  “If you are what you say you are,” she said harshly, “I’ll have no trouble finding someone to knock your wall over.” The madam shared a complacent smile with her aide. “But if you’re wasting my time, the guards will have you for free.”

  Hadley met the woman’s eyes and refused to look away, even if her heart was a quivering mess.

  “One night,” Lara murmured, scribbling something down. “I’ll give you twenty per cent. I refuse to let girls fuck me over. If you weren’t intact we wouldn’t be talking at all. Speaking of which …”

  Hadley tensed as the madam approached and knelt before her. Lara lifted her dress and Hadley felt blood rushing to her face. All it took was a quick, feather-light touch. Before she knew it Lara was standing again.

  “He’s waiting for you,” she said. “Don’t come back down till sunrise. Arja will look after the contract. I don’t want to see you again, Hadley of Guill.”

  “You have someone already?” Hadley asked, her head spinning.

  Lara smiled and leaned in close. “You thought a beautiful, buxom, flame-haired village virgin would be sitting the night out? While you were soaking I handled a bidding war. Twenty per cent.”

  That last bit was emphasized as Lara left the room. Hadley wondered how much the client had agreed to pay. Arja must have noticed her panicked look, resting lovely long hands on her shoulders.

  “Don’t expect sympathy from us,” she said simply. “Just go up there and do your job. Room seven.”

  Whilst it wasn’t exactly comforting, Arja’s advice at least served to spur Hadley into action.

  “Launder my clothes,” she said to the aide. “I also expect a hot breakfast on my return.”

  Arja nodded and handed Hadley a thin, pale blue shawl.

  Mind, body and soul set on a course that could never be altered, Hadley padded from the room and found the stairs. Room seven was at the end of a long hallway on the top level. There was no time for reflection, no room for emotion. Even as she knocked on the door, she knew something within her had died.

  “Come,” came a deep voice.

  Hadley didn’t hesitate. Life was brutally simple when all the baggage was stripped away. She turned the knob, opened the door and let herself in. A gentle rain beat a soft rhythm against the roof.

  7 - Catelyn

  The training yard at Duskovy Castle became a mire after the slightest rain. Catelyn trudged through the slop with legs like lead. She held her little wooden shield at half an arm’s length and just below her eye line in the way she’d been instructed. Her opponent was a brutish lad from the outskirts of Guill. He’d only been made squire last season but made up for his lack of knowledge with insolent force.

  “Hold fast,” Sange called from the sidelines, where some twenty squires were gathered. “Concentrate, Catelyn.”

  She blinked as a rivulet of sweat invaded her right eye. It was one thing to replicate the perfect defensive stance, another to maintain it in the heat of a duel. She knew if she wavered just for a moment, Patkin was liable to smash her over the head with his training sword. Cutting in sharply, the boy made to strike and Catelyn panicked. She drove low and hard with her sword but overreached. Her thrust glanced harmlessly off his chain mail and all she could do was brace for a return blow. Patkin went for humiliation over pain. His mace thudded into her helmet with a satisfying thwunk, a sound that caused no end of mirth among the knights-in-waiting. The shock reverberated through her poorly-made helm and delivered an instant headache.

  “Step aside, la Berne,” Sange said. There was nothing venomous or unkind in his tone but she could see the impatience in his eyes. If anything, that was far worse. She’d pleaded with Sergeant Havara to let her join the training ranks. Perhaps taking pity on the orphaned refugee, the royal officer had eventually relented with the clear understanding that she wasn’t a squire but a prospective trainee.

  Since her arrival three days ago, she’d been doing her very best to botch her opportunity. Burning with embarrassment, she moved to the side of the yard, hanging back from the main group. She wouldn’t get another chance to spar until the morrow. Assuming she was welcome back. Right now it seemed that everything she’d learned with Doran amounted to nothing. These boys were so much faster, stronger, better than her brother. Amazing how drastically her perception of his abilities had changed in the course of a few days. Who knew how many bad habits she would need to iron out in the castle training yard? Of course, she loved the time spent with Doran, and missed him desperately, but a small part of her was glad he never got a chance to join Duskovy’s garrison. He would’ve been torn apart. Just like she was being systematically dismantled right now.

  Ignoring the steady throb in her head, she tried to focus on the duels and absorb the lessons learned. Sange was the nominated squad leader for the day, his ragged voice ringing out across the miserable yard. The vast majority of Duskovy’s men were off on scouting maneuvers. Dahal Rane’s elves had last been seen at the Border Village to the east, but all royal soldiers in the Southern Reaches were now on high alert. Plus, Duskovy had committed a dozen men to assist with reparations to the sacked village. They weren’t expected back for at least a month. Though a thorough head count had been taken and damages quantified, the surviving villagers needed logistical help if they had any hope of moving on. There was livestock to be rounded up, orphaned children to look after and raw materials to replace.

  Catelyn’s mind drifted as the duels wore on and the sun beat down on her poorly-cra
fted armor. Her gaze drooped to her feet, to the clinging mud on her boots. It reminded her of the stifling garbage pit in Guill. The horror of that night still seemed unreal, like a painful echo from a former life. The rotten, acidic vegetable matter, along with the syrupy human waste, had certainly been real enough. She’d remained in that pit until the sun was up and the garrison had arrived. Four, maybe five hours in a stinking hole knowing her family was either dead or dying. She might’ve been consumed with guilt, but anger was a better description. Fury that there was no rhyme or reason to the night’s horrors. Rage that Dahal Rane should choose her family on a whim.

  “La Berne.”

  Sange’s voice cut through her bitter reverie. He’d taken to using Catelyn’s last name as some kind of bulwark against his obvious feelings for her. She didn’t have the mental resources to warn him away. Instead, she simply avoided being alone with him.

  “The Baron wishes to see you,” he said. Keen to rise through the ranks on merit, he never referred to Duskovy as his father.

  “Of course,” Catelyn replied, removing her over-large chain mail and plodding through the mud toward the keep. The single guard on the stone stairwell watched her closely as she ascended. She was something of a curiosity within the castle. The men seemed torn between pity and scorn. She had suffered, yes, but there was little room for sentiment in royal garrisons. After all, the soldiers were expected to be battle ready at a moment’s notice.

  Catelyn paused at the top of the stairs for her only real indulgence in her time at the castle - the view. Directly below her, the huge gates were shut and would remain so until the majority of soldiers returned from their scouting duties. In the far distance, just visible over the gatehouse, was the ruin of Guill. Catelyn could just make out the dark smudge where the la Berne estate used to be. The Baron probably wanted to inform her of its destruction, but she was already well-informed. Which made the impending interview a pointless exercise. It didn’t help that she felt uncomfortable in his weighty presence. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something lacking in his world perspective. Still, it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.