The Sword and the Soul Ch. 02

The two guests were an intriguing pair. One was a man, tall and broad shouldered, garbed in a worn and travel-stained steel breastplate with a bandolier of throwing knives strapped to his chest. His trousers and boots were likewise grubby, and a sword hung on his hip in a nondescript scabbard. He had dark black hair, shaggy and a bit unkempt, held back by a dull red headband. A dark stubble covered his cheeks, chin and neck. His eyes were a bright and curious shade of yellow, belying his otherwise brutish appearance. She took him for a mercenary of some kind. His age was hard to pin down. Older than twenty, but certainly not much more than thirty, I think. Beyond that she couldn't say. He was attractive in a rough sort of way, but certainly a far cry from most of the prepossessed lordlings and officers she was used to mingling with. Which is not a bad thing.

The other visitor was a lizard, as she'd thought. He (at least she assumed it was a he) had earthy scales with a stripe of brighter green running from his snout across the middle of his head and then down his back. The reptile was even taller than his human companion, and wore only a simple leather skirt. She could plainly see the tight muscles that rippled beneath his skin with each movement. Two small green eyes scrutinized her, and a forked tongue darted out once to taste the air. He grasped a sturdy polearm in one hand, the kind she knew lizard warriors favored. This creature was certainly the stranger of the two. What would possess a lizard to come to Seleca, with only a human for company? She knew well the lizardfolk's dislike for humans and their customs.

On the desk, before Magus Brand, a grotesque trophy had been unwrapped from a cloth package. It was a beast of some kind, with ursine ears, a snarling muzzle, and black eyes gone glassy in death. No doubt this was the Soulkin in question, Norn, for whom her father had foolishly offered two thousand gold coins, a reward which Brand was now dithering about paying.

All this Marilla noticed in the few quiet moments following her entrance. Brand, despite his impassive demeanor, was clearly waiting for her to say something, and the two interlopers were obviously out of their element. Good. The situation was entirely hers to control. She positioned herself in front of the desk and stood with her feet slightly apart, hands clasped behind her back, chin even with the floor.

"I am Lady Marilla Silver," she said. "Heir to Lord Rovish Silver, Duke of Seleca. I am empowered to speak for him in his absence. Who do I have the pleasure of addressing?"

"Huh," said the big man. He scratched at his stubble absently with the fingers of his left hand. "Nice to meet you, Your Ladyship. This is Varak." The lizard thumped his tail on the ground in acknowledgment. "I'm Mag."

"Have you a family name, Mag?"

"No family name. Just Mag."

"Very well. You are welcome in Seleca, Mag and Varak. How may I be of assistance?"

Mag pursed his lips and looked from Marilla to Magus Brand and back again, seeming somewhat amused by the situation.

"The Magus here said he's empowered to speak for your dad. Which is it?"

Marilla spoke quickly, before Brand could get a word in.

"Brand is a high-placed advisor, but as to matters of state and finance, in this situation, you may treat me as principal."

"Oh yeah?" said Mag. "Well, fine by me. Can you pay the two thousand?"

"It is within my power. And I can plainly see you have dispatched a Soulkin. Did the two of you defeat it together, then?"

"Mag man fight alone," said Varak. "Varak only guide. But share in reward."

"One fifth," added Mag. "That's what Varak gets, I mean."

"You mean to say you engaged a Soulkin in single combat and triumphed?" Marilla could remember when she was very young and a Soulkin had gotten loose near the mining site. It had taken ten if her father's men to bring it down, and two of them died in the effort. Three others were gravely injured. The thing's head still hung in the great hall, horned like a bull and imposing even in death.

"Yeah," said Mag, giving a disarming, lopsided grin. "He was pretty weak for a Soulkin, though. Very stupid. I fought worse in the Yornish wars up in Maruba."

"Even so. This is most impressive."

The fighter was beaming now, evidently proud of himself and looking a bit childish for it. Still, despite his blunt demeanor and terrible manners, she couldn't help but like him.

"So you'll pay us, then?"

"As to that, I must consult my father. Do not mistake me. I do not intend to cheat you. But my father offered the reward, and it is only fair that he personally view this trophy and approve the payment. Wouldn't you agree?"

"That's what I said from the fucking start," said Mag. He jerked a thumb at Brand. "But this dickless Magus has been wasting our time. Gods above, you people do things backwards."

"My Lady, may I offer a suggestion?" put in Brand, his tone calm and unperturbed by the insult. Before she could respond, he continued. "The Duke is resting now, but I expect him to be well enough to attend the celebratory supper in the Great Hall this evening to commemorate the mine's reopening. Perhaps our guests could join us for dinner, and at that time the Duke might view the trophy and make his decision?"

Marilla hesitated before responding. It was a reasonable enough suggestion. And gives me time to come up with a reason not to pay them. Still, she wondered what Brand was playing at. He was a cunning man, and his magic had been indispensable during her father's recent extended infirmity. But she knew he was up to something.

As she considered it, she felt Mag's eyes on her. The look he was giving her was unmistakable: intense, somewhat hungry. He wants me. She knew how she must appear to him: young and buxom, smooth features and tan skin. Many men at court had pursued her over the years. A few had even succeeded. And she had to admit a certain attraction to the bluff, masculine soldier of fortune before her. Even if he is a lout. Her earlier interruption in the garden only intensified certain impure thoughts about how this Mag might appear without his shirt on. She had to admit, she quite liked the fact that he fancied her.

But now wasn't the time for that. Clearing her throat, she spoke. "A fine suggestion, Magus Brand. Dinner tonight in the grand hall. You shall be received with all honor and dignity. In the meantime, my father's secretary, Renton Palster, will show you a place you might refresh yourselves until then. Good afternoon, gentlemen."

"My Lady," said Mag, and she caught a smirk on his face as she turned to go. The lizard only thumped his tail on the floor.

***

The tremendous din in the great hall made it hard to hear the conversation of anyone who wasn't right next to Mag, but he didn't really want to talk to any of the lords and ladies anyway. He was seated about halfway down one of the two enormous ash tables, with Varak by his side, and they were surrounded by courtly people in fine tunics or embroidered dresses, festooned with expensive jewelry and rife with strong perfumes. It was, to say the least, not the kind of atmosphere Mag was used to. He much preferred a good cheap tavern, which was usually still very fucking loud, but at least there the noise was from a joke or a song or a good fight, not endless prattle about taxes and marriages and other nonsense.

He glanced over at the high table. The Duke himself had shown up for the evening, although the man looked half asleep. He had white hair and deep lines in his face, though the broadness of his shoulders hinted at a man once filled with vigor. Now Mag would scarcely have recognized him as the Duke, despite his elegant blue and silver robes and the pick and coin sigil he wore on his chest.

The Magus from earlier sat on his left, and he seemed always to be leaning over, whispering something to the old man, who just nodded and said nothing in return. Mag didn't trust the magician, despite his handsome features and placid tone. Of course, Mag never trusted Magi. In his experience, they acted like they had some grave responsibility to the people, but it was all a sham. They were only out to enrich themselves, same as everybody else, but they cloaked it in mysticism and ceremony. Magic is fun to watch, though. Everyone liked a show, after all.

Above the high table, a trophy of an enormous bull-like Soulkin hung on the wall, with two terrifically long and sharp horns. The thing was enormous, much larger than the bear-like one Mag had slain in Norn's cavern. He wondered what it had looked like in life, and how the Duke's men had brought it down. Most of all, he wondered if he could beat a thing like that.

Mag shrugged, and turned back to his food. All in all, Mag had to say that the lizards were better at food than the Duke of Seleca. He'd never been to a state dinner like this before, so all this business with a salad course and a soup course before any kind of meat got brought out was puzzling to him. Why start with the worst part of a meal? Is the Duke trying to piss off his guests on purpose?

He turned to Varak, seated next to him. "What do you think of this food, friend?"

Varak paused in the midst of raising a bowl of the thin, salty soup to his lips. "Very different from lizardfolk meal. But Varak not speak badly of host food. Very rude." He lifted the bowl to his snout and slurped the soup loudly, drawing the attention of the humans across the table from them, an officer of the guard and a lordling of some kind. The officer, a barrel-chested man with a thick red beard, nudged his companion, a dandy dressed in silk in velvet, and whispered something. The dandy erupted in tittering laughter.

"Something you wanna share?" said Mag, loud enough that he knew the officer heard him.

"Oh, nothing much," said the man, flashing a self-satisfied smirk Mag's way. He'd put some kind of oil or cream in his hair so that it stayed in place like a topiary bush, with one prominent curl hanging down his brow. "Only noticing how much your friend enjoys the soup. We were wondering if he'll like the venison half as well. I'm Lieutenant Glabber, by the way. Arnis Glabber. Maybe you've heard of me?"

"Nah," said Mag. "But I'm new in town. Should I have?"

"Well, you ought to know that I carry a lot of weight with the Duke's household. There's talk that I'll be Captain of the Guard someday. I've even been suggested as a suitable match for the Duke's daughter, the Lady Marilla."

"Oh yeah? Well, that's real nice for you, friend."

The lieutenant raised his glass in thanks and turned his attention back to his companion. Mag wondered if this Glabber was really Marilla's type. He looked over at the high table, where the lady sat between her father and Renton Palster. She was real interesting, that Marilla. Not like most courtly ladies he'd met. She had none of the airs, the put-on modesty, the aloofness he hated. She was direct.

And pretty too, of course. Her skin was tan from the sun, not pale and porcelain. And she didn't paint her face much, letting her elegant features and sharp blue eyes speak for themselves. Her chestnut hair was braided and woven together in a way that spoke more of plain usefulness than high fashion, the way a gardener might braid her hair for work outside. The dress she wore was rather simple as well, a light green embroidered with the silver that was her family's trademark. It was low-cut enough to give a generous view of her stunning cleavage. That was the first thing he'd noticed about her. The second had been her wits, which he found uncommonly sharp for someone of her station.

Mag remembered what Norn had said the day before: "Think of it as a fun diversion. You'll probably get to have dinner at the palace. Maybe even fuck the Duke's daughter." Of course, Norn was probably full of shit. But Mag had to admit, he liked the idea. He liked it a lot.

He realized he was staring. And before he could tear his admiring gaze away, Marilla looked back at him, meeting his gaze. She didn't seem angry, or disgusted, but only amused to catch him looking. She raised an eyebrow, as if challenging him. And then she turned away, distracted by something Palster was saying. Mag chuckled in spite of himself, shaking his head.

"What Mag man think?" hissed Varak, breaking his reverie.

"Huh? About what?"

"Him," whispered Varak, his eyes darting across the table. "Glabber man. Varak challenge him maybe?"

"Bad idea," said Mag. "Not good manners at human supper. We'd get tossed out, probably, and then no reward."

"Hmm," said Varak, turning it into a bit of a growl. "Humans strange. No wrestle at meal? How then to earn respect? Varak have much to learn."

Mag patted his companion on the shoulder. "Me too, friend. At least the wine is good." He took the opportunity to have a long swig of his drink, a rich red wine imported from Sworza. All the best reds came from Sworza, and it was a rare treat for Mag to have a drink this fine. At times like these, one had to make liberal use of the constantly-full pitchers, and he'd lost count of how many cups he'd had. He was probably a bit drunk, he realized. Best slow down, at least until the meat gets here.

Varak raised his own cup and looked at it appraisingly. He darted out his tongue, tasting it. "Glad Mag man enjoy. Not for Varak. Should have smoke instead."

"We'll go outside and have a smoke later," promised Mag. "In Cairen they don't usually have thack at the table. I know, I know, 'humans strange.' Hey, watch my plate, I gotta piss."

Mag drained his cup and scooted his chair back, bumping into the chair behind him. They put these tables too fucking close together. He mumbled an apology and climbed to his feet, extricating himself from the table with some difficulty. They build these things for smaller men than me. He found it a bit tricky to weave his way among the chairs and tables to the door of the hall. A guard was standing watch.

"Privy?" asked Mag, and the man pointed down the hall wordlessly. "Thanks."

He stumbled off in the direction indicated, feeling a bit lightheaded. Definitely a little drunk. But he found the privy easy enough, and slipped into the small closet-like chamber. Mag was used to just doing his business in the woods, or in a latrine, or out in the open. He felt like a fancy lord as he dropped his trousers and plopped himself down on the bench above the hole. There were even some scented herbs in a pot hanging from the wall.

It was much quieter here compared to the din of the great hall. With a sigh, Mag relaxed, pissing abundantly. Really had to go. He leaned his head back against the wall, closing his eyes, thinking about what a strange couple of days he'd had. Lizards, witches, Soulkin, ladies. It was nice to just have a moment to himself. Even after he'd finished going, Mag just sat there for a minute, relishing the silence.

The privy door banged open and Mag sat up with a start. Some scullion maid stood without, garbed in a plain gray dress, her bonneted head lowered.

"D'you mind?" Mag asked. "Occupied."

But the maid darted forward into the privy, pulling the door closed behind her. She was right up against Mag's knees in the close space.

"The fuck are you doing?" he demanded, dumbfounded by the wench's ignorant behavior. "You can clean up when I'm done."

The maid looked up, showing Mag her face for the first time. He instantly recognized those wide, smirking, crimson lips, those pale, soft features, those bright, golden eyes.

It was Norn.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" the witch asked. "I thought we'd made a connection. You haven't forgotten me so soon, have you?"

"Shit," he said, his heartbeat quickening. "How'd you get in here? I thought you didn't want to be seen."

"I won't be," said Norn. "Who notices a scullion maid, eyes downcast? You didn't mark me, after all."

"Huh. Suppose that's true. Still, you surprised me. Could have warned me you'd be showing up."

"And miss the look on your face?" Norn clicked her tongue. "Besides, it's important to remind you, dear Mag, that your mistress is always watching. But tell me, what have you to report?"

Mag shook his head. He'd damn near convinced himself Norn was just a figment of his imagination, but here she was after all. Should have expected it, I guess.

He told her about his visit to the clan hollow the night before, and his meeting with Vusz, leaving out the part where he offered to abandon this quest and leave Seleca. And he explained about coming to Seleca with Varak, arriving at the palace, being made to wait, meeting with that prick of a magus, finally getting some headway with Marilla, and that about brought them up to this moment. When he'd finished, Norn looked up and to the right, tapping her chin thoughtfully.

"Very interesting. I know Vusz from many years ago. A clever lizard. Not a threat, I think. This business with the Duke's household is more troubling. They offer the reward and then drag their feet about paying. And this Magus Brand. What do you know about him?"

"Not much. Assigned to court by the Council, so he says. Every lord has one in their court, right?"

"Correct," replied Norn. "They attach themselves to the noble houses of Angrael like limpets. They fancy themselves advisors, guiding the various kingdoms and city-states across our region. And they possess a certain amount of skill with Soul magic, diluted through their use of runes and glyphs as a catalyst. In general, however, they are little more than a nuisance."

"But you think this Brand guy might be different?"

"Perhaps. I suspect he knows the trophy you brought is a fake. He seems to know me, or at least he's heard of me, though I can't say I've ever met him. It could be that he got the story about me forbidding any further mining from one of the old Duke's retainers. Though why he should have a grudge against me is baffling. In any case, he does not seem overly important to his order, posted as he is here in Seleca, at Cairen's northern frontier. A simple magus. Though perhaps he desires to be more."

"What do you want to do about him?" asked Mag. "I could split his head."

Norn smiled and patted his cheek with a slim hand. "Oh, Mag. So direct in your approach. No, I think not. He could have allies, and if he dies, they will grow wary. We must know what he is up to before we play our hand. A more subtle tactic is called for. And fortunately, I have enough cunning for both of us. I have a certain Soul Art in mind that will serve quite nicely in this situation."

Her grin turned catlike, and a predatory glint touched her golden eyes. Norn reached up and unfastened her bonnet, tossing it to the stone floor, her bright blonde hair spilling free. She stepped forward, kicking Mag's legs apart so she stood between them. Before he knew it, she'd leaned in and kissed him, a light touch at first, then growing more passionate as one of her hands dipped between his legs to where his cock still hung free. She grasped him and squeezed lightly, making Mag groan into her mouth.

Norn broke the kiss and spoke softly, half breathless. "Oh, Mag, my dear. I've been thinking about what we did yesterday. How strong and dominant you were. It was fantastic." She took one of his bigger hands in her slender fingers and guided it under the skirt of her dress to the cleft of her thighs. He could feel wetness drenching them. "Feel how much I want you. Have you been thinking about me too? Or has the Duke's lovely daughter caught your eye, perhaps?"

"Fuck," hissed Mag. He was growing hard in her hand as she squeezed and stroked him. He rubbed his own fingers along her slit, gently prying her delicate lips apart, slipping his middle finger inside her. She gave a breathy gasp in response.