up and she gripped herself with arms folded in a fierce hug.
“ Mistress Dema?”
He pulled his crumpled tunic from a pile of discarded clothing on the floor and tugged it impatiently over head and arms. Then he padded across the stone floor, as cool beneath his feet as his mistress’s body. She must have heard him. She heard everything. The softest falling of a silk handkerchief on thick carpet was still audible to the Medusa’s heightened senses. But she did not turn round, even when he was close enough for his breath to ruffle the thin material of her bedrobe.
“Dema?”
“What?”
“Have I displeased you?”
She spun round at that. Her sparkling half hidden gaze met his eyes and he looked away quickly. The mere echo of her masked sight sent his stomach tumbling in a wave of nausea. Carefully he turned his head back, letting his field of vision rise as high as her lips, the lips so soft and human in brutal contrast to the monstrous aspect from her cheekbones upwards.
Her mouth opened in a sharp retort. “ Why do you ask, Captain?”
“You seem….” He hesitated. For a creature of such varied and volatile moods it was difficult t o identify what was normal and, by contrast, bring definition to a sense that something ailed her. Her lips, sealed and straight in a thin unsmiling line, gave him no encouragement. “You seem unsettled, Mistress. Is it some failing of mine?”
She gave a haughty sniff. “The arrogance of men is limitless. To assume that responsibility for all things good or ill must always lie with them. There are other concerns in my life, Captain, beyond the quality of your modest accomplishments in the bed chamber.”
He winced at the rebuke, but was comforted by the fact that whatever fault had occurred it was not his. She turned back to gaze at the camp fires of the assembled armies within and beyond the castle walls. He reached for her shoulder, first letting his fingertips rest there then, when that elicited no shrugging dismissal, he settled his palm to give her a squeeze of reassurance. She grabbed his hand with hers, always the shock of her cold skin, and gave him a complicit squeeze in return.
“Who has displeased you? Is there anything you would have me do?”
She laughed at that. “Noble Kimbolt the bed slave, freed from guilt and so released and ready to take up arms in my defence. Would you strike down Nagbadesh and all the Redfangs for me?”
“I would,” he gulped, biting back bitterness at her belittling tone. “Nagbadesh is unsoldierly.”
She pulled him down beside her in the alcove and looked him in the face , head cocked to one side in curiosity. “How so, brave Captain?”
“He posts his guards in pairs too far apart. The line between their vantage points is too great and the guards are a llowed to talk and be a distraction to each other. A spy or an attacker could easily sneak through his leaky cordon.”
She nodded slowly. “Indeed, you see much in your wonderings and from this vantage point, Captain.”
“Is that how Nagbadesh has displeased you?”
She shook her head with a sigh. “Even an impatient and unsoldierly orc is no more than a pimple on the arse of my displeasure.”
“I am sorry that you are so troubled. Surely this is your time of triumph, victor of many extraordinary battles, commander now of a far greater force. Is not your ambition on the point of fulfilment?”
She gave a snort of derision. “And what follows fulfil ment, Kimbolt? What is left next but oblivion? Is not every triumph to be followed by disaster?”
“Dema? What is this doubt which ails you?”
“Doubt?” she laughed at that. “Yes doubt is a sickness and I have the cure. Come Kimbolt.” She rose, and pulled him back towards the bed. “Come give me some certainties to ease my doubt.”
He followed, rising to her challenge. He hoped she would keep the snakes covered.
***
“Wait my P rincess.”
“ Mistress Dema?”
He pulled his crumpled tunic from a pile of discarded clothing on the floor and tugged it impatiently over head and arms. Then he padded across the stone floor, as cool beneath his feet as his mistress’s body. She must have heard him. She heard everything. The softest falling of a silk handkerchief on thick carpet was still audible to the Medusa’s heightened senses. But she did not turn round, even when he was close enough for his breath to ruffle the thin material of her bedrobe.
“Dema?”
“What?”
“Have I displeased you?”
She spun round at that. Her sparkling half hidden gaze met his eyes and he looked away quickly. The mere echo of her masked sight sent his stomach tumbling in a wave of nausea. Carefully he turned his head back, letting his field of vision rise as high as her lips, the lips so soft and human in brutal contrast to the monstrous aspect from her cheekbones upwards.
Her mouth opened in a sharp retort. “ Why do you ask, Captain?”
“You seem….” He hesitated. For a creature of such varied and volatile moods it was difficult t o identify what was normal and, by contrast, bring definition to a sense that something ailed her. Her lips, sealed and straight in a thin unsmiling line, gave him no encouragement. “You seem unsettled, Mistress. Is it some failing of mine?”
She gave a haughty sniff. “The arrogance of men is limitless. To assume that responsibility for all things good or ill must always lie with them. There are other concerns in my life, Captain, beyond the quality of your modest accomplishments in the bed chamber.”
He winced at the rebuke, but was comforted by the fact that whatever fault had occurred it was not his. She turned back to gaze at the camp fires of the assembled armies within and beyond the castle walls. He reached for her shoulder, first letting his fingertips rest there then, when that elicited no shrugging dismissal, he settled his palm to give her a squeeze of reassurance. She grabbed his hand with hers, always the shock of her cold skin, and gave him a complicit squeeze in return.
“Who has displeased you? Is there anything you would have me do?”
She laughed at that. “Noble Kimbolt the bed slave, freed from guilt and so released and ready to take up arms in my defence. Would you strike down Nagbadesh and all the Redfangs for me?”
“I would,” he gulped, biting back bitterness at her belittling tone. “Nagbadesh is unsoldierly.”
She pulled him down beside her in the alcove and looked him in the face , head cocked to one side in curiosity. “How so, brave Captain?”
“He posts his guards in pairs too far apart. The line between their vantage points is too great and the guards are a llowed to talk and be a distraction to each other. A spy or an attacker could easily sneak through his leaky cordon.”
She nodded slowly. “Indeed, you see much in your wonderings and from this vantage point, Captain.”
“Is that how Nagbadesh has displeased you?”
She shook her head with a sigh. “Even an impatient and unsoldierly orc is no more than a pimple on the arse of my displeasure.”
“I am sorry that you are so troubled. Surely this is your time of triumph, victor of many extraordinary battles, commander now of a far greater force. Is not your ambition on the point of fulfilment?”
She gave a snort of derision. “And what follows fulfil ment, Kimbolt? What is left next but oblivion? Is not every triumph to be followed by disaster?”
“Dema? What is this doubt which ails you?”
“Doubt?” she laughed at that. “Yes doubt is a sickness and I have the cure. Come Kimbolt.” She rose, and pulled him back towards the bed. “Come give me some certainties to ease my doubt.”
He followed, rising to her challenge. He hoped she would keep the snakes covered.
***
“Wait my P rincess.”
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