The Sword and the Soul Ch. 02

"Aw, it was nothing, Your Grace," said Mag. He rubbed his upper lip with one finger, affecting a bashfulness at being the center of attention, but Marilla sensed from his wide grin that he loved every minute of it. "Happy to be of service. Of course, the reward you offered made me feel real brave. Gave me the strength of ten men, so to speak."

That remark got a genuine laugh from the guests. He does have a charm to him, in his rough, low-class way.

"Speaking of the reward," said the Duke. "It shall be paid in full, as promised. This Duchy does not go back on its word. And yet, I fear I must make one small adjustment to our obligation. We did not expect the reward to be claimed so expertly and so promptly, and unfortunately, much of our city's capital has been devoted to this new mining operation. Therefore I have ordered the reward to be paid in installments, beginning with one-fourth, to be paid immediately tonight, and the rest to follow in the days to come as the mine begins to produce. I hope you will find this compromise acceptable. Renton Palster, if you please."

The secretary hopped from his seat as if stung and rushed around the high table, down to wear Mag and Varak stood expectantly. He delivered a purse of gold, which Mag accepted with a somewhat hesitant swipe, his mirth having melted away now. He shot Marilla a wry half-smile and raised an eyebrow, balancing coin sack in his open palm as if to say, "This is it, huh?"

It was a plan she and Brand had worked out between their earlier meeting and supper. Obviously they couldn't pay the pair their full due. The Duchy's coffers simply couldn't bear it. When Marilla had pressed Brand on why the ludicrous reward had been offered in the first place, he'd only said something vague about nothing being left to chance with the new mine expansion going in. And he still seemed doubtful that the Soulkin trophy was, in fact, the legendary Norn, and didn't want to pay the two at all. But Marilla knew how her family's reputation could suffer if they welched, and she was keen to strengthen their relationship with the lizardfolk, so she asked Palster the maximum amount they could afford to pay without going broke, and that was what he was handing Mag now. Brand had explained it all to her father before bringing him down to dinner. She intended to pay the rest, of course - at the appropriate time, provided Mag stuck around long enough to claim it. She thought it very likely he'd have moved on before that time arrived. He doesn't seem like the type to wait around.

"And one last piece of business," said Rovish Silver. "I am afraid that Norn is not the only threat to our new mining operations. I have received troubling reports of other Soulkin sightings near the mine. I do not wish to alarm anyone. These may simply be rumors started by drunken miners jumping at shadows. But my advisor, Magus Brand, tells me it is often common to observe a rise in Soulkin activity during a new excavation. We can afford to take no chances. Therefore I wish to offer Mag and Varak positions as advisors, ancillary to the city guard, to assist in protection against this new threat, given their experience in these matters. Please think this offer over, gentlemen, and give us your answer shortly. Now, with that said, bring in the cakes!"

Marilla was staring wide-eyed at her father now, even as the crowd pounded the boards again in appreciation. She and Brand had not discussed the topic of new Soulkin sightings at the mine. Her father resumed his seat, gripping the padded arms of his chair tightly in his shaking and feeble hands. He slumped into the cushion and leaned his head back with a sigh, all the energy seeming to leak out of him, leaving the Duke as pale and thin as a wight.

"Father," she said gently. "What was that about the Soulkin sightings at the mine?"

He half turned his head, giving her a blank look. She couldn't tell if he was confused or simply hadn't the strength to respond. It was as if all his reserves had been spent on the speech, and now there was nothing left. He closed his eyes, chest rising and falling slowly beneath his robe. Marilla looked at Magus Brand on her father's right, hoping to get an answer out of him. The Magus looked little better than her father, his handsome face moistened by a sheen of sweat. The effort of spellcasting took much from him, she knew, a Soul-price that had to be paid.

"I apologize for not consulting you," said Brand. "I only just learned of it myself. But what can it hurt, having an extra couple of swordarms to settle the minds of superstitious miners?"

"It could be costly if they stick around," said Marilla. "Very costly. I was hoping they would depart before claiming the remainder."

Brand nodded in agreement. "As did I. But this way, we may be able to strengthen ties to the lizardfolk, which I know you are keen to do. And if the mining is a success, our Duchy will be so flush with gold that the sum we owe them scarcely matters. But let us discuss the matter further in the morning. I am exhausted, as is your father, and I must help him to bed. Let us relax and enjoy the entertainment, shall we?"

Marilla allowed Brand to depart with her father, the two of them hobbling out of the hall's rear door, a pair of servants in tow. She shook her head, still not understanding what had transpired. Brand's explanation had made sense, but she couldn't help the feeling the Magus wasn't being entirely honest. He's always hiding something, or playing some angle. If only I could read your thoughts, Brand.

She wasn't long lost in thought, however, as the minstrels and trays of cakes streamed into the hall. Servant shifted the tables to the walls, leaving a space in the middle for dancing, and the side door was thrown open so that folk might come and go as they pleased, and enjoy the pleasantly crisp late-summer air. Marilla wasn't particularly looking forward to mingling with the guests - mindless pleasantries and pointless smalltalk was her least favorite part of her station - but she was looking forward to some fresh air and mulled wine.

She and Palster went among the people, nodding and saying good evenings to members of minor noble families, baronets and counts and an earl or two, that owed fealty to her father. As Duke of Seleca he was one of only five Dukes in the Kingdom of Cairen, his position second only to King Diamond himself, but Seleca was the youngest of the ducal houses, established not even one hundred years ago thanks to the unexpected riches flowing from the mines, and Rovish was only the third Silver to bear the title. Still, their place among the lords and ladies of Cairen was one of great prestige, and their court was never short of the sons of earls, the nieces of barons, officers of the guard, ambassadors, magi, and various other hangers-on. Most of them were terribly boring. The men only wanted to talk about warfare, which most of them had no experience in, and the women only wanted to talk about fashion, which Marilla could not have cared less about. She wanted to talk about gardening, but whenever she broached the subject she found herself faced by glassy, vapid expressions and often a yawn.

Renton Palster did most of the talking as they made the rounds. He lived for this kind of thing, and seemed always to know the gossip from remote parts of the kingdom before anyone else. Marilla generally smiled politely and nodded, always angling closer towards the courtyard door and escape. She noticed Mag and Varak heading that way as well, packing a bowl of thack as they went. Marilla was about to head after them when Lieutenant Arnis Glabber appeared as if by magic in her path, stroking his red beard and puffing out his chest, tossing his head so that ludicrous curl of his bounced ridiculously.

"Good evening, my Lady," he said. "May I congratulate you once again on the finest fare and resplendent entertainment." He gestured to the minstrels, a lutest, a harpist, a flutist, and a singer, who had struck up a merry tune.

"You're too kind, Lieutenant," she said, sighing inwardly. Glabber had a knack for showing up when he was unwanted. And it doesn't help that he's a terrible boor. The man was strong as an ox, and she supposed he was probably a good enough soldier, but he was also terribly vain and stuck-up besides.

"And may I also say how generous your Ladyship is to welcome such, ah, rough-hewn guests as that mercenary and his reptile friend. I fear this dinner has been a greater honor than either of them deserve. Yet rest assured, their rudeness did not spoil the proceedings."

"Oh, I'm sure," said Marilla evenly. She was biting her tongue. What she wanted to say was, "Just being in your presence is spoiling the proceedings for me." I wonder what Mag would tell him in my position?

"I wonder if your Ladyship would do me the honor of dancing with me?" asked Glabber, extended one of his meaty hands.

"I'm afraid I must decline," said Marilla. "There are many fine folk I must speak to just now. Perhaps later."

Glabber deflated a bit, obviously not used to being rebuffed, but perked up again almost instantaneously. "Of course, my Lady. Later on. I shall not forget."

She strode past him towards the side door, feeling his gaze on her back the whole time. Out in the blessedly cool air she found the herd of people somewhat thinner. A table of refreshments had been set out, and the music from inside the hall drifted quietly out to dissipate above the gardens. Marilla allowed a servant to pour her a cup of mulled wine and furnish her with a blackberry pastry. She took a sip of the drink, relaxing as the pleasant warmth rolled down her throat. Mag and Varak were standing not far away, passing a pipe between them, and the mercenary noticed her as well, waving her over to join them. She was only too happy to oblige.

"You like thack?" asked Mag as she approached. "My Lady," he added as an afterthought.

"Marilla is fine," she said. "And yes, I enjoy thack occasionally, though it is not typically on offer at these gatherings."

"Marilla woman try this," said Varak, offering her the pipe. He exhaled a cloud of the sweet, pungent smoke through his nostrils, making him look like drawings she'd seen of dragons. "Varak grow near clan hollow. Very nice smoke."

Marilla handed Mag her drink and her pastry, which he immediately helped himself to a bite of. She held the pipe to her lips and pulled on it, coaxing the burning thack to a bright red. It had been quite a while since she'd smoked, and she almost immediately coughed as the hot smoke filled her lungs. She near doubled over, and was aware of Mag laughing uproariously while Varak did the low, raspy lizard version of laughter.

"See?" said Varak. "Very nice."

"You said you grow this yourself?" said Marilla, struggling for breath.

"Yes. Varak good at growing. Not best in hollow. But not worst."

"I'm a gardener myself," she said, finally managing to stand up. Her eyes were still watering, but she soldiered onward. "I take care of pretty much everything you see in this courtyard. My mother did it before me. She's the one that taught me all about flowers and vegetables and trees. We shall have to exchange advice sometime."

"Varak like that," said the lizard, thumping his tail with appreciation.

Marilla handed the bowl to Mag, exchanging it for her wine and pastry, which was now more than half gone.

"What about you?" she asked the mercenary. "Do you have any hobbies?"

"Me?" said Mag. "Nah. Just, y'know, fighting and traveling, stuff like that. I'm kind of a, what'd'you call it. Vagabond." He took a pull of thack.

"And just where are you from, Master Vagabond?" she asked playfully, the thack taking hold now and making her feel pleasingly tingly all over.

"Cairen City, I think," he said. "Well, that's what mom said, anyway. I only remember living in Angheg. That's one of the city-states across the Varos River in east Angrael. Mostly I grew up there, till mom died. Then I lived lots of places. Sworza, Saltea, Maruba, Madria, Gleok. You name it, I've probably been there."

"Then will you accept my father's offer of employment? Or will you be travelling on again?"

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a sly grin. "Not sure yet. Maybe. But maybe it's worth my while to stick around."

She was still puzzling out just what he meant by that comment when she noticed Arnis Glabber and one of his friends, a dandy who she thought was the son of some baronet or other, hanging around near the outdoor refreshments table and pretending not to be watching them. Marilla peered at them over Mag's shoulder. Glabber had picked up a sizable horn-shaped pastry filled with cream and was weighing it in one hand. With his other he pointed at Mag's back, and his companion giggled. Marilla realized what the Lieutenant's intention was, and opened her mouth to warn Mag that a dessert was about to be hurled his way. But an impish impulse came over her, and she sealed her lips, curious to see how things would play out on their own.

Glabber drew back his arm and whipped the pastry through the air. Mag, perhaps catching the look in her eye, or having some sixth sense for these things, spun in place, moving quite a bit faster than she would have expected of a man his size. He pulled a knife from the bandolier across his chest and, with a smooth, delicate motion, caught the flying cream horn on the point of the dagger. Mag grinned in self-satisfaction, raised the pastry to his mouth, and took a bite.

"Hey, thanks Glabber," he said around a mouthful of flake and cream. "How'd you know I was hungry?"

Glabber's jaw hung open stupidly, disbelieving the feat of reflex and agility he'd just seen. His companion seemed stunned for a second as well. Then the dandy let out a howl of glee, clapping his hands together and doubling over with laughter. A crimson blush spread over the Lieutenant's face, and Marilla half expected him to stomp over and draw his sword. But instead he clenched his fists and turned on his heels to stalk back into the great hall.

Mag turned back to Marilla and held out the dagger and cream horn to her, raising an eyebrow.

"No, thank you," she replied, shaking her head, half-amazed. "I'd no idea your reflexes were so keen, Master Vagabond."

"Me neither," said Mag. "Must be my lucky night."

"Well, you should be careful about making an enemy of Arnis Glabber. He's the nephew of Count Hawkmoor, and he's a strong candidate for Captain of the Guard someday."

"Him?" said Mag with a derisive scoff. "Bet he thinks he'll marry you, too. Nah. Not that guy. He's a cunt, pardon my language. I could take him with one hand tied behind my back. Varak could break him in half. Right, Varak?"

"Right," confirmed the lizard. "Maybe find out for certain someday. Now Varak must make water. Where is place for this?"

Marilla gave him directions, and the lizard headed for the privy, hunkered forward, his tail swaying a bit for stability as he walked. She found it a bit mesmerizing to see how he moved, every motion controlled, graceful, and balanced. The lizardfolk were fascinating creatures, and she looked forward to knowing them better.

"Can you imagine him trying to use the privy?" asked Mag, and Marilla snorted with laughter at the idea. "I mean, what the fuck does he do with that tail?"

"Oh, be nice," she said. "He seems very pleasant."

"Got a crush on him, do you?" asked Mag, and there was mischief in his eyes.

"Perhaps I do," returned Marilla, meeting his eyes. A sudden thought came to her, a rather untoward thought, and she couldn't help picturing what it would be like to kiss the mercenary's rough lips, to run her hands over his firmly muscles arms. She could imagine how strong a lover her must be, and it made her heart race. Her interruption in the garden earlier had left her unsatisfied, and now she found her mind leaping to ever more lurid possibilities. She ordered herself to calm down. It must be the thack making me giddy. But all the she found herself asking, "Would you care to walk with me in my garden for a while?"

"I'd like nothing better," replied Mag.

***

Mag followed Marilla a few paces behind, watching the skirt of her dress swish back and forth as she moved. He could just make out the shape of her arse through the fabric, flexing and shifting attractively with each step. There were all kinds of lovely flowers along the winding cobblestone path, bathed in a soft moonlight that imbued them with otherworldly beauty, but Mag barely noticed them. He was mesmerized by the woman in front of him.

She's an eager one, isn't she? Aren't you glad you listened to me? I told you, after all, that you might get to fuck the Duke's daughter if you only heeded to your mistress.

The bit of her Soul was radiating heat through his abdomen, and he felt a growing fire inside him, the lust that Norn had stoked earlier and left unquenched, which threatened to overwhelm him if he let it. His cock was growing painfully hard in his trousers. It was more than lust, though. All his senses felt heightened. He could smell each blossom, hear the flitting wings of insects among the petals. Earlier, when Glabber had thrown the cake, Mag had heard the Lieutenant muttering his plan from across the yard, and could practically feel the air moving as the cake sailed at his head. Spinning in place and skewering it on his dagger had been the easiest thing in the world, as if everything else around him had suddenly moved slower, even as the fragment of Soul inside him burned ever hotter.

You're starting to understand what it means to be a Soul Warrior. You drew on the sliver of Soul I lent you, the same one which is letting me ride within you now. This is but a taste of the blessings I can bestow.

"How did you know?" mouthed Mag silently, trusting Norn to understand from where she watched inside him.

Know what?

"That she'd want to be alone with me."

Ah. Didn't I tell you? I am a Soul Witch. I can see the future.

"Bullshit. She probably doesn't want to fuck. Courtly ladies aren't that easy."

And how would you know? Have you bedded many courtly ladies? Trust me, Mag, she's game for what I have in mind. I can sense how wound up she is. I'm sure she's just looking for the right place to lay back in a soft bed of flowers, hike up her skirts, and...

"Shut up," said Mag, but he was so aroused now that it slipped out as a whisper.

"What was that?" asked Marilla, half turning around.

"Nothing," he said. "Just, y'know, admiring your garden."

Admiring her plump backside, more like.

They passed a cluster of fiery orange marigolds and turned a corner. Ahead a willow tree bowed low above a stone gazebo, fashioned in elegant style from veined white stone worked into patterns so thin and delicate that it criss-crossed like spiderwebs at the edges of the four pillars supporting the domed roof. Perched atop the roof was a stone owl, its wings beginning to spread as if about to take flight. Within the structure was a stone bench, carved in the same fine style that suggested fragility and permanence simultaneously.

"This was brought here from Sworza in my grandfather's time," said Marilla. She gathered her skirts about her and sat on one end of the bench, beckoning for Mag to join her at the other. "The marble, I mean, in five great blocks. A master mason came with them and spent most of a year fashioning it. A lavish expense, but I find it quite enchanting, don't you? Almost no one comes here, save for me."

Mag sat down beside her and leaned back, bracing himself on his hands so he could look up at the gentle curve of the roof.