He gave a deep sigh and turned away. “She will never love a man such as me,” he murmured, downcast.
Loytan raised his cup in salute. “That makes two of us, my actor friend!”
He glanced at the nobleman. “But you are married!”
“Of course,” he said awkwardly. “I just wanted you not to feel so alone.” Loytan drank his tea. “As for being alone, what about your own family? You’ve been seen at the side of a notorious rebel-is there someone that needs to be protected from the Lohasbranders?”
Rodario shook his head. “No. My parents are long dead and there’s no one else. Apart from the descendants of the Incredible One, and I don’t think the Dragon would go as far as to kill all of them.”
“You never know.” Loytan sat down. “You’ve been up for the contest eight times now and came last again. Why don’t you give up?”
Rodario smiled sadly and fiddled with his beard. “I promised someone I’d keep entering until I won.” He emptied his cup. “I know what you’re going to say: An impossible endeavor. But one day, I swear…”
Loytan raised his hand. “You said that before and I still don’t believe it. Especially now they’re looking for you. You won’t be able to return to Mifurdania and go on stage.”
“Except maybe for my own execution,” he joked. “And that would be a performance… Nobody could steal that show.” He tossed his hair back theatrically.
“Hear, hear! Another flash of wit. And coming from you! Respect, friend. You’re improving. I agree.” Loytan placed his feet on the table, folded his hands and prepared for a nap. “It may be a long time before the princess gets back up.” He closed his eyes. “Help yourself to more tea. And think up something appropriate to say in greeting to the rightful queen of Weyurn. Unlike her daughter, she’s a stickler for etiquette.”
Rodario drank his tea, placed the empty cup on the table and wandered over to the spy-hole again. The lighting effects in the shaft were still in full swing.
He looked over to Loytan, already snoring, then studied the ropes going down into the depths of the shaft. “You’re a descendant of the Incredible Rodario,” he told himself, screwing up his courage and pulling his gloves out of his belt and putting them on. He discarded the mantle; it would get in the way. “Here we go. Try something that would have impressed the Incredible One. You’ve made a fool of yourself often enough, even though it was in a good cause.”
With one bound he reached up and grabbed the wire cables. Then, with more agility than he’d ever shown on stage, he went down the rope, hand over hand, letting himself down toward the bluish light.
In some places gaps between the iron plates were allowing trickles of water through; elsewhere, regular mini-fountains shot between corroded elements in the structure. However, the walls were holding solidly, despite the rust that had formed in thick layers. The structure had presumably not been intended for long-term use.
Rodario could not assess whether the Weyurn folk had the necessary skills for the upkeep of these iron walls. And the dwarves certainly had more pressing things on their minds than to come round and carry out repair work. They were battling away in the mountains, fighting for their very existence. Against dragons. Against the kordrion.
The bottom of the shaft was only about ten paces below him now. Planks had been laid across it so that the princess would not sink in the mud.
Rodario took a sharp breath and clung fast to the cable.
Loytan had told the truth: Coira was indeed naked-apart from the leather gauntlet on her right arm.
She was floating in the middle of the shaft in the blue light, her long black hair drifting as if under water. The young woman had her eyes closed and was smiling. She was enjoying her energy bathe.
Rodario looked his fill, wondering when he was likely ever to see such a perfectly formed female body naked again. But how strange that she had not removed her glove.
Suddenly he was overcome with shame. What he was doing just was not right.
I shall win her for myself, he vowed, and then looked away, embarrassed. He started the upward climb, inching his way up the wire rope.
The next time he saw Coira without her clothes, he thought, she should be undressing for his eyes alone and doing so willingly. “Stand tall,” he told himself. “Attitude is everything.”
At that moment he heard someone shouting excitedly at the top of the shaft.
Hot and cold shivers ran down his spine. The guards had discovered him committing this inexcusable indiscretion!
VI
Girdlegard,
Protectorate West Gauragar,
Topholiton,
Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle
Down in the brick-built cellar four lamps shed a faint light over the score or so people gathered.
Most of them were glad not to be obviously recognizable. Simple clothing concealed social status or provenance, and they wore hoods to keep their faces in shadow.
They were meeting under the house of the sheriff, who was asleep two floors up, reluctant to know anything about what was going on here. His courage amounted only to leaving the iron-clad door to his cellar unlocked.
Mallenia, surrounded by her co-conspirators, could not believe what Frederik was telling her. “The thirdling is still alive?” She forced herself to take a deep breath. The air down here was stale and smelled of sweat and food. The group had been there for some time arguing and planning, as they sat among smoked hams, sauerkraut barrels, jars of jam and bottled fruit and tubs of salted meat.
Frederik nodded. He was a local butcher of good reputation and no one would have thought him likely to rebel against the vassal ruler and the alfar here in Topholiton. In his early thirties, he had a face that seemed much too nice for the butchery guild he belonged to; and certainly too nice for revolutions. “It is so, my lady. Hargorin heads the Black Squadron once more and is riding out collecting the tribute. It is said his warriors are more brutal than ever.” He took a folded paper out of his sleeve and handed it to her. “Read for yourself. The price on your life has been increased. Whoever brings your head to Hargorin may select what they like from his treasure store.”
Mallenia looked at the sketch of herself on the crumpled paper and was dismayed how true to life it was; underneath the picture was the number 1,000. That was a great deal of gold. “They say that Hargorin’s treasure hoard contains objects of breathtaking value,” she said pensively.
Frederik looked enquiringly around the circle. He took off his cap, revealing short black hair. “My lady, I know you don’t want to hear this but we think you should halt your activities. You have provoked the alfar and their henchmen to intolerable lengths and with rewards like this…”
“I shall go on provoking them,” she interrupted without a moment’s hesitation. “They will go on hounding me even if I crawl into some dark hole and hide for cycle after cycle.” Mallenia surveyed the assembly.
Her fellow insurgents looked tired, fear and distress showing on many of the faces. They were frightened for their families. The death of friends, killed in the attack on the Black Squadron, had brought home to them that even the best-laid plans could go wrong.
Mallenia knew why Frederik was making this suggestion and she could not take it amiss. She smiled. “I thank you for what you have done in past cycles, but I am going to release you now,” she said kindly, trying hard to show she harbored no resentment. “From now on I ride alone.”
“My lady!” exclaimed Frederik in shock. “No! We don’t want to give up…”
She put her hand on his arm. “It’s all right, Frederik. I can’t have you all taking these risks for the sake of my struggle.”