Here you'll find

 

Ravens, Owls and a nightingale

 

 

 

 

 

30. Up & About

A vaguely unpleasant feeling penetrated slowly through the haze of sleep and prodded him slightly more awake. He grunted under his breath, eyebrows crunching together in protest, refusing to open his eyes. There was no light to speak of glowing through his lids, which meant that it was still pretty dark. That in turn meant that the day was only beginning to dawn, and therefore it definitely wasn't time to get up yet. No reason whatsoever for leaving the warm, comfortable bed for a good while.

He sighed when the vague unpleasantness formed into a realization coherent enough to be identifiable: his left arm was cold. So he'd once again pushed it outside the covers. As usual, the fire had died out some time during the night and the room had cooled considerably after that, and even despite the drawn curtains of the four-poster bed the colder air had reached the sleepers. Really, the fireplaces in these rooms would have to be replaced with the more closed ones, those that consumed far less firewood but gave far more warmth in return. The problem was just that in those fireplaces the fire was concealed behind doors, felt but invisible, and he liked seeing the dance of flames... However, there was no denying that the extra heat would be well used, with the biting wind greedily leeching warmth out of the dark stone of walls and towers.

He pulled the adventurous limb back under the thick layer of quilts and blankets, then relaxed with a contented huff. The form resting beside him shifted, just perceptibly, and he smiled in the nearly impenetrable darkness. Very cautiously he let his hand ghost closer to the body that radiated warmth, touched the soft skin. There was no reaction and he turned on his side to listen to the slow, steady breathing.

There were moments still when he could hardly believe it was really true – that she was indeed there, sleeping next to him, sitting by his side at the table, running the castle and carrying the ring of keys as its Lady. Not chatelaine but Lady of Deleon. His wife. Merania.

Lord Rhodan nuzzled his face closer and breathed in her scent. Her cheek was cool; well, so was his nose. He chuckled under his breath and wrapped an arm tighter around her waist. She'd never been exactly willowy, not even as a young girl, and her strong, full body felt so familiar and fascinating in his arms. Yes, she was something to hold on to, a proper armful. No wonder that their son was such a cob in build.

Rhodan let a hand glide along the curves of her body, careful not to wake her up, heart swelling so that he had to swallow a few times just to be able to breathe. The memory of Lady Berissa flickered by but he firmly shooed it away. He didn't want to remember her by anything else except her three children, and he was hard put not to think of her every time he looked at them. They were beautiful and no mistake, each and every one of them, he had to give Lady Berissa that much. But they also showed every sign of being quite as strong-willed as their mother had been, and that was something that made Lord Rhodan at the same time proud and profoundly apprehensive.

He felt cold when he remembered the sight of his dead wife. That she'd actually hated him enough to plot against him with infinite, patient cunning, sending her two children away and poisoning the third, and then finally killed herself when it had all gone wrong... What had he done to deserve such hatred? He didn't know, nor did he want to think of it too much because the thought was simply too disturbing. To the best of his knowledge he'd never treated her badly, never hit her no matter how much her cold contempt had made his blood boil, never raped her. So, why?

Better try to make sure that his daughters would never feel the need to find out just how much they could resemble their mother – although, to be fair, Lord Rhodan was fairly sure that both of the girls were far more likely to resort to direct action if things didn't go their way. That was something he was duly grateful for, but it also meant that many otherwise potential suitors might find them too feisty to their liking. The girls didn't hesitate to air their opinions, and Rhodan had seen enough to know that there were men who considered it their duty and pleasure to 'tame' women like that. But they had a father who was going to do his best to make sure that they would be married not only advantageously but also as happily as possible.

The Lord nodded to himself and pressed still a little bit closer to the sleeping woman by his side, frowning as his mind continued its stroll along predictable paths. He'd been thinking about Benella, so naturally his thoughts would next stray to Count Daynar. How Rhodan would have wanted to see the man as Benella's husband! He still was convinced that Daynar and Benella would get along just famously as far as personalities went, not to mention that a marriage would've been yet another powerful factor to tie Daynar more firmly to Deleon. How was it possible that Daynar could state so convincingly that he was totally indifferent to women? Yet there was no getting around it; Rhodan knew the man well enough to also know that he'd been serious, he himself had promised to drop the matter for good, and he was going to do exactly that. No one would be able to say that the Lord of Deleon was a man to go back on his word, no matter how bitter it felt to keep it!

He'd thought a lot about Daynar's confession and its implications since their discussion, and was the first one to admit that his feelings were still confused, to say the least: a mixture of disbelief, revolted curiosity and suspicion. But the fact remained that up until the very moment when the Count had told him his secret, he'd not once seen or sensed anything that would have made him dislike or distrust the man. So why should all that be turned upside down now that he knew this one additional fact?

For one thing, what did it all mean? A man-lover... he had trouble even thinking of the word. He'd been certain that he'd never known anyone else like Daynar, except for the accursed stablehand, but the more he'd racked his brain the more thoughtful he'd become. For one thing, that stablehand had been a revolting monster who had forced himself on an adolescent boy, and Rhodan was convinced that Daynar's disgust at the story hadn't been pretended. After all, like any other upright and proper Revnashi, Daynar would go to quite some lengths to protect children and not be inclined to show much leniency towards any shameful creature who didn't do the same.

Besides, the image of Daynar was inevitably accompanied by a blond, dark-clad scepter that almost made the Lord squirm with discomfort. Sorel. Sorel, a grown man, tall and handsome and agile and a deadly fighter – and Daynar's bedmate. A willing bedmate, moreover. Was it really possible that there had been men like that around him before this? Had he just shut his eyes from it? Now that he knew of the special bond between them, he'd been able to see some telltale signs that, in truth, didn't look all that unfamiliar. There was the air of closeness, of intimacy between them. Those exchanged looks, half-smiles, twists of lip indicating some shared memory or inside joke. They were a lethally effective team in battle – Rhodan and his old friend Krisyorr had been nearly as close-knit a pair of fighters, thanks to all those countless hours of practice, at times almost seeming to read each other's minds. The Lord had seen other such brothers-in-arms, and he felt dizzy when he thought what the bond might mean.

Wasn't it a good thing that he'd always enjoyed watching when the Count was instructing the Ranea, and had mostly been present even thus far? Thus nobody could claim that his behavior would've somehow radically changed, even if these days he was watching the proceedings with new eyes. Of course he hadn't noticed anything amiss, either in the patient but demanding Count or his precious son. But he couldn't help himself even though he could swear that those two behaved towards each other in exactly the same way they had done before: Daynar with a mixture of sternness and big-brotherly tolerance, Bengor with the moody precocity that was so typical of him nowadays. But then why was Rhodan himself being so observant of his son's attitude – towards Daynar? Why did every sign of affection that Bengor showed to his teacher make his eyes narrow?

The Lord burrowed closer to Merania and firmly told his rambling mind to please stop obsessing about the Count. All right, so there was this pang of regret that shot through him every time he thought of the man who'd never be his son-in-law, but at least Daynar had surreptitiously put some more distance between himself and Lady Benella. Most probably the girl hadn't noticed a thing, and that was just as well. Rhodan could only hope that the others wouldn't drop too many hints about what an excellent match she and Daynar would make. He'd heard it more than once since the victory party, but mostly it had been said to him with a lowered voice and a meaningful wink, and it made his gut twist. Heaven forbid that Benella wouldn't hear it too many times…

Merania sighed and shifted a little, and Rhodan smiled into her shoulder, kissed it, rocked his hips softly against her. She was so strong, warm and soft and tough at the same time, and he wanted her so much and so constantly that it surprised even himself – not the desire as such, but the fact that he had eyes for no one but her any more. He'd always liked women and the things he could do with them, ever since that first time when, at fourteen, he'd put his hand underneath that curvy maid's skirts and felt the mysterious warmth of her flesh.

His father had invested so many hopes in Rhodan, his only surviving child, and it had always been self-evident that he'd have to marry a rich lady, but of course he hadn't needed to remain ignorant of the pleasures girls could offer even before that. Nor had he had any competition in his exploits with the castle's maids. His father had been elderly and in not too good health, while apparently he himself had amassed all the strength and vigor that his parents had been able to pass on, for he had no siblings to share it all with. Just the few other boys who'd been sent to Deleon to learn the use of arms from the experienced old warhorses who resided there. And then, a year after that first memorable encounter with a woman, he'd seen Merania – and fallen in love.

Who would've imagined that it'd take them nearly thirty years to finally get to this? If he'd done then what he wanted, instead of –

Except that such thoughts were useless. Just as Merania had told him more than once. If he'd done what he wanted, too many things would be different now. There'd be no Benella, Bengor or Bailenn. And heaven only knew what else there wouldn't be... it was thoroughly possible that the big and mighty Deleon would actually be subservient to some other castle. Maybe Eregal?

A horrid thought, and it also involved too many 'what ifs'. Rhodan squeezed his eyes firmly shut and hugged Merania tighter. At least she wasn't something imagined, something to just dream and think of. No, she was real and right here to be kissed and held close, so that was exactly what he did until he felt her stir sleepily.

"Mmm... Rhodan?"

"Of course. Who should it be?" he growled under his breath and heard the chuckle.

"Nobody else!" She pinched him and squirmed closer. "Good heavens, you – how can you still be so horny about an old woman like me?"

"Old woman?" He snorted with laughter. "You won't be an old woman for many years. And even an old man like me gets horny when sleeping next to you."

"Ahh – I can feel that." She laughed as well. "But don't you think we ought to get up?"

"What for? I'm the Lord. You're the Lady. If we want to sleep late on some days, there's no one to say we couldn't."

She let out a deep, satisfied sigh. "I suppose you're right, my Lord. Though I get the feeling that you don't intend to sleep any more."

"And damn right you are, too!"

While Lord Rhodan was thus studiously ignoring the dawning day outside the windows, others had definitely noticed the brilliant sky and first rays of sun and were taking advantage of them. The usual penetrating wind had died down for once, and even though the weather was cold, the worst biting edge just wasn't there. Sun was peeking out of ragged clouds, it made the undulating fields of snow glow blinding white and forced the four riders squint as they looked around, a wide smile on every face.

The horses, just like their riders, were in an exuberant mood. They kept snorting and shaking their heads so that the mist frozen to the longer hairs on their faces flew around in little starbursts, and they also took every opportunity to jump into a trot or even gallop. The riders' fur-lined hoods were fringed with frosty white as well, and the cheeks and noses peeking out of the hoods were red from cold, but their eyes were shining with the sun.

Bengor restrained his horse and pointed at the untouched expanse of a snow-covered field, then turned the chestnut and gave it free rein. It didn't hesitate for a moment before jumping out of the road and into the field, to wade in the soft snow that reached above its knees, and the other horses followed suit without much urging. Soon all four were plowing each their own swath through the fields, pouncing up and down as if in deep water and tossing their heads.

"Woohoo!" Benella shouted, trying to make her horse overtake her brother's. "This is fun!"

"Look out," Karos hollered. "Don't ride too fast, there might be holes in the ground and you don't want your horses to break a leg!"

"Spoilsport," Benella stated.

"Big brother," Karos corrected. "Please be careful! Do you really want to end up riding the same horse with me again?"

"No, I prefer my own!" Benella raised her chin but slowed down anyway.

"Look, there's a sleigh!" Bailenn expertly reined her horse in and pointed towards the well-trodden riverside road leading to Deleon Village. "No, two sleighs. Are we expecting visitors?"

"Not that I know." Bengor turned his horse towards the road and nudged it to canter. "Let's go and see!"

The others followed him. It didn't take long before they reached the smaller road that connected with the main road somewhat ahead of the sleighs, and they sped up to catch up with the travelers before they'd reach the village. As they got closer, their interest was further piqued by some interesting details. For one thing, the two sleighs were pulled by handsome horses that looked well-fed and strong, even after obviously covering quite some distance that day. For another, the sleighs were followed by two riders, and not just any two riders. Bengor's first guess was that they were armed servants, and Karos agreed with him; they didn't seem trained enough to be regular soldiers, but clearly this wasn't the first time when those two bore arms. What was going on?

As they got close enough to see faces, Karos noticed that they were observed with obvious curiosity by the people tucked under the heavy coverlets and pelts. Benella blinked, all of a sudden realizing that she and her sister might not look too presentable at the moment – at least if Bengor's current appearance, disheveled after their lengthy ride, was anything to go by. A glance at Bailenn confirmed it: they really didn't look too ladylike like this, noses bitten red by cold and stray locks flying all over their faces. But it was too late to get self-conscious, for the men occupying the driver's seats of the sleighs were reining in their horses and her younger brother was already riding briskly towards the foremost sleigh with a greeting on his lips.

"Good afternoon, young ladies and gentlemen," shouted the older of the men sitting in the first sleigh. "Am I correct in assuming that you might be from Deleon Castle?"

"Yes, sir," Bengor replied with great dignity. "I am Bengor-Omeasch-nea, and these are my brother Karos and my sisters Benella and Bailenn of Deleon."

Karos suppressed a wince and made a mental note – he really needed to tell Bengor not to proclaim his name and title quite so readily when riding outside the castle without guards and coming face to face with people accompanied by two visibly armed men. He noticed that the men leveled a surprised glance at him, and raised his chin, guessing that he'd probably been dismissed as a servant despite his handsome clothes.

To his relief the travelers seemed merely delighted at hearing the news, and the older man nodded.

"Our most respectful greeting to you all!" he said. "We hope that our unexpected arrival won't cause any big inconvenience – I am Ferior of Revall, traveling with my younger brother Farris and some servants, and it is my ardent wish to meet your honored father."

"You are most welcome," Bengor said graciously. "Just drive on, and you'll reach Deleon in no time at all. In the meantime we'll take the shorter route and inform father of your arrival."

He bowed courteously in the saddle, then turned to his brother and sisters and flashed a broad and mischievous grin.

"The last one inside the gates is an old goat!"

He spun his horse around and kicked it into gallop once more, to his sisters' joint shriek of indignation.

"Oh no you won't!"

Karos raised his eyebrows, managed to hold back his high-stepping horse long enough to nod to the astonished-looking men in the sleigh, then dug his heels to its sides and sped after the swiftly disappearing trio.

Main Jainah Revnash Dorelion Others Gallery