silence.
“Clearly I am not helping your situation, so I will leave. If you need me then you must call on me. In the meantime-” He reached to his belt. “-will you take this?” He held out the rose with hopeful fingers. “Its odour is more pleasant than mine, at least. It is not much use to me anymore, and a pretty girl ought to have it.”
Artemi’s shoulders relaxed slowly. “That’s it?”
“Well, I’m sorry it’s not a full bouquet but I didn’t have much time to prepare.”
Her face broke into a dazzling smile; her cheeks dimpled. She took the rose from his hand. “Thank you. Lord Forllan, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded steadier.
He nodded.
Her bearing changed suddenly. “Lord Forllan, the rose is lovely but kindly do not approach me again. I am a very busy woman.” And with that she moved past him, blue and gold fading into the grey murk of the halls.
Silar clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk the way he had come, his facial expression a forgotten concern. Women made no sense at all. They did not think him some sort of predator, surely? He definitely needed to bathe. A short bath, a shave and then on to the bar was required; Baydie’s secret stock of wine would sort him right out.
Back in his rooms, two men hauled a great cauldron each of hot water over to the bath and began pouring. One of them added soap to it - the same, bloody soap used by the whole castle. It made his rooms smell like the blasted laundries! The other man tipped a smaller pot of water onto glowing grate that lined one wall, and the room was filled with steam.
“Thank you.” Silar nodded to the blue-suited men as they left. He unbuckled his black coat and pulled off his boots. The day had been an exhausting one. His shirt did not smell very good at all. He tore it off as fast as he could. The sword he placed against the bath edge, his trousers dropped to the floor with a satisfying clink of metal buckles, and he stepped into the water. It felt gloriously hot as it drifted over his thighs, soon enveloping him in its calescent embrace. He lifted both feet so that they rested at the end of the bath and sank the rest of his body beneath the rippling surface. Staying under for a few minutes, he emptied his mind of everything: every conversation, every image and every smell that had passed before him that day.
It was during these moments that his most pressing concerns could come to the fore. All he had to do was to sweep clean his mind and permit only the most important matters to enter his thoughts. He relaxed every muscle and began to think of nothing. The rose floated in the mind space he had created. The petals fell from it and beyond, emerging from a haze, was Lady Allain. She looked tough, resolute. He did not have to worry about her. Her image drifted past him and the mists reformed, making many shapes. They twisted and resolved into a thousand men in black and green coats. Some fell to their knees in pain while others ran forward as if to attack. No surprises there . Perhaps a third of them had fallen. He could expect a similar proportion to be out of action within ten days. He swept aside their figures, turning them into another ripple of mist. A new character emerged: Morghiad. He stood firmly upon feet of rock, giving the impression that he could weather all storms. But something… something was wrong. Something had weakened him.
Morghiad’s apparition commenced the basic training moves needed for a duel. Each sweep of the sword was precise and efficient, each of his steps perfectly timed. The only visible hole in his armour was his face: it had lost its stony composure and instead conveyed… uncertainty. Then, the ground beneath him started opening up into great fissures that were filled with horrible, piercing white light. Morghiad continued to move smoothly between the traps, but sweat was beginning to show on his brow. He was afraid. In an instant he stopped the moves and looked behind him.
“Clearly I am not helping your situation, so I will leave. If you need me then you must call on me. In the meantime-” He reached to his belt. “-will you take this?” He held out the rose with hopeful fingers. “Its odour is more pleasant than mine, at least. It is not much use to me anymore, and a pretty girl ought to have it.”
Artemi’s shoulders relaxed slowly. “That’s it?”
“Well, I’m sorry it’s not a full bouquet but I didn’t have much time to prepare.”
Her face broke into a dazzling smile; her cheeks dimpled. She took the rose from his hand. “Thank you. Lord Forllan, isn’t it?” Her voice sounded steadier.
He nodded.
Her bearing changed suddenly. “Lord Forllan, the rose is lovely but kindly do not approach me again. I am a very busy woman.” And with that she moved past him, blue and gold fading into the grey murk of the halls.
Silar clasped his hands behind his back and began to walk the way he had come, his facial expression a forgotten concern. Women made no sense at all. They did not think him some sort of predator, surely? He definitely needed to bathe. A short bath, a shave and then on to the bar was required; Baydie’s secret stock of wine would sort him right out.
Back in his rooms, two men hauled a great cauldron each of hot water over to the bath and began pouring. One of them added soap to it - the same, bloody soap used by the whole castle. It made his rooms smell like the blasted laundries! The other man tipped a smaller pot of water onto glowing grate that lined one wall, and the room was filled with steam.
“Thank you.” Silar nodded to the blue-suited men as they left. He unbuckled his black coat and pulled off his boots. The day had been an exhausting one. His shirt did not smell very good at all. He tore it off as fast as he could. The sword he placed against the bath edge, his trousers dropped to the floor with a satisfying clink of metal buckles, and he stepped into the water. It felt gloriously hot as it drifted over his thighs, soon enveloping him in its calescent embrace. He lifted both feet so that they rested at the end of the bath and sank the rest of his body beneath the rippling surface. Staying under for a few minutes, he emptied his mind of everything: every conversation, every image and every smell that had passed before him that day.
It was during these moments that his most pressing concerns could come to the fore. All he had to do was to sweep clean his mind and permit only the most important matters to enter his thoughts. He relaxed every muscle and began to think of nothing. The rose floated in the mind space he had created. The petals fell from it and beyond, emerging from a haze, was Lady Allain. She looked tough, resolute. He did not have to worry about her. Her image drifted past him and the mists reformed, making many shapes. They twisted and resolved into a thousand men in black and green coats. Some fell to their knees in pain while others ran forward as if to attack. No surprises there . Perhaps a third of them had fallen. He could expect a similar proportion to be out of action within ten days. He swept aside their figures, turning them into another ripple of mist. A new character emerged: Morghiad. He stood firmly upon feet of rock, giving the impression that he could weather all storms. But something… something was wrong. Something had weakened him.
Morghiad’s apparition commenced the basic training moves needed for a duel. Each sweep of the sword was precise and efficient, each of his steps perfectly timed. The only visible hole in his armour was his face: it had lost its stony composure and instead conveyed… uncertainty. Then, the ground beneath him started opening up into great fissures that were filled with horrible, piercing white light. Morghiad continued to move smoothly between the traps, but sweat was beginning to show on his brow. He was afraid. In an instant he stopped the moves and looked behind him.
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