Chapter Forty-Four

Nobody spoke on the trip to the banquette hall, yet the air sizzled with unspoken words. It seemed as though a great storm was forming. The banquette hall's doors clicked shut with a loud echo. Five people occupied seats at a long table that might have easily seated thirty; each sat in silence, either unwilling to share the reason for the gathering, or they were ignorant of its purpose. Nogeron and his brother were nowhere to be found and Sit Tarl declined to comment when subtle questions probed for the reasons for the assembly.

Lord Landrew took his place at the head of the table. He invited Tarn to sit beside Sir Tarl on his right and motioned Barath to sit on the bench beside Aliesha on his left. The irregular seating arrangement drew questioning glances from most of the table's members, especially from a tabard-wearing soldier further down the polished oak surface whose eyes narrowed.

"Thy accent is unique. I've not heard it before today," Aliesha said to Tarn, eager to learn any tidbit of information that might give her a clue as to the reason for the assembly and break the aura of tension that had fallen over those assembled.

"I am of Asgard," Tarn began. "My people seldom travel beyond their mountains. There have been others, from time to time, but I am the first in many winters."

"Asgard. I've heard rumours about the people said to inhabit that region. It is said to be rife with trolls who dine upon unwary travellers. Other stories tell of barbarian hordes that raid south in search of slaves to work the mines."

Tarn smiled broadly, chuckling as he said, "Aye, I've heard similar warnings." At Aliesha's quizzical expression, he added, "Asgard mothers tell their children the same stories about those who are not of Asgard."

A train of servants carrying food platters entered through a service entrance. Mouth-watering aromas flooded the hall, causing Tarn's stomach to rumble.

One of the plates contained blood-rare venison for Barath. If the servants thought it strange that a wolf sat at the table, they tactfully withheld their musing. Each exhibited complete indifference to Barath's presence. When the last servant departed with instructions not to disturb the assembly, Lord Landrew banged his dagger against the rim of his chalice. Once he gained everybody's attention, he stood up and introduced Captain Braddock and Lord Renaldo to Tarn. After the formalities of etiquette were dispensed, he recited their story for Aliesha, Braddock, and Lord Renaldo's benefit.

Each gazed at Barath in disbelief, but remained silent, except for Lord Renaldo, who uttered a protective prayer under his breath. When Lord Landrew completed his briefing, Tarn answered questions about the Rings of Mahnaz. He shared everything Torrocka imparted about the ancient cult, excluding reference to Kalen's prophecy.

Lord Renaldo studiously appraised Tarn and Barath in turn. Though he had remained silent throughout the questions, he had been weighing and measuring his response—a response that was written on Sir Goth, and Captain Braddock's eager expressions. And although he did not share their enthusiasm to enjoin battle, he agreed with them in principle. Mahnaz must be halted. Mahnaz had dared to usurp a noble family. Mahnaz threatened all noblemen and their holdings. Lord Renaldo's land lay but half a day's ride away. What more, the profits he drew from his chancellery to Mycenar were now threatened.

Lord Renaldo caught Lord Landrew's eye, and asked, "I have but a single observation to make." Landrew laced his fingers together, understanding that Renaldo had already made up his mind. Renaldo paused, letting silence encompass the room, and drawing every set of eyes in it to him. One by one he appraised the owners, briefly holding each pair before saying, "Mahnaz represents a clear and present danger to life as we know it. The king will not intervene unless we set proof before him. We lack the substance of tangible proof. Nevertheless, Mahnaz must be stopped, and sent back to whatever Stygian lair they slithered out of."

"As chancellor to Mycenar, and with the power granted to that office, I cannot condone a religion that threatens to unbalance our delicate theological treaties by creating a monopoly. While the King prefers to distance himself from elevating one religion above another, he has repeatedly shown distaste for cults that take with force what they cannot promote through attraction."

At Lord Renaldo's conclusion, Sir Goth stated enthusiastically, "Let us take siege of Barath's hold and restore it unto him."

"We will send the temple priests back to the hellish pit they crawled out from," Braddock agreed, banging his fist on the table, caught up in the certitude that swept around the room.

"What say ye, Tarn? Do we fathom thy quest true?" Lord Landrew asked, and sipped at his wine.

Tarn set his eating dagger down and looked at each table member before replying, "I know little of siege wars or the intricacies of religion, but I have an idea that first requires we conduct a scouting mission of Barath's home and the land around it. Barath and I leave tonight under the cover of darkness. On the morrow, I will report our findings and what I intend."

"Ye do not issue orders here, barbarian!" Braddock exclaimed, insulted that Tarn addressed Lord Landrew without title, and spoke commonly to Lady Aliesha, jesting with her as one would with a servant.

"Aye. Neither do I abide them," Tarn answered, meeting Braddock's glare with a calm and steady gaze.

Lord Landrew broke the tension. "I will be happy to provide an armed escort and guide."

"Barath and I travel faster alone and will make little noise."

"Of that, I have no doubt, but hellish beasts prowl the temple grounds at night. It would be wise to heed my counsel, lad," Lord Landrew said reasonably.

"Yes," Barath barked.

Tarn glanced across at Barath who nodded his head and barked again, urging Tarn toward compromise.

"So be it, but a small escort," Tarn agreed.

"Would five be too many?" Sir Tarl enquired.

"No. It would not, so long as they are forest-worthy."

"Done. I will gather four of my best horsemen and swordsmen, then meet ye in the courtyard."

"Three, brother. I, too, will accompany ye if Tarn doesn't object to a woman's presence?" Aliesha asked, daring Tarn to question her ability with a level, sky-blue gaze.

"The danger be great, daughter," Lord Landrew interjected.

Although Aliesha's eyes turned cold blue, her voice remained calm and steady when she asked, "Who is better than I on horseback? Have I not bested most of the garrison with sword? No man can gainsay my ability with a bow! These be dangerous times, father. Never have I been pampered, nor raised by thee to sew and fret while others embrace risk on my behalf. If Mahnaz be bold enough to claim the noble Barath's land, our hold lies in peril," she summed up succinctly.

The table fell silent as Aliesha and her father locked eyes. He well knew her ability, but she was his daughter, no matter how sound her logic. Before he formed a response to soothe her high-spirited feelings and pride without doing injury to either, she repeated her question, "What say ye, Tarn, do ye refuse a woman's accompaniment based solely on gender?"

"In my village, women fight alongside their mates and family. Be thou among Sir Tarl's best and a shield maiden true, then I bid ye welcome warrior-sister," he said in a forthright manner, ignorant of the fact that women were not counted equally in the southern regions, and were restricted by custom and tradition from warfare.

Captain Braddock and Sir Goth bolted to their feet, banging the table with their fists in outrage, but it was Braddock who spoke first, "Do not gainsay my Lord's will, outlander. 'Tis a boy ye be, without station at this table! Lady Aliesha's honour is not of thy concern."

And though Tarn's emerald-green eyes shot angry spears at Braddock's unspoken challenge, he remained seated at the insult, reminding himself of his guest status. Lord Landrew spoke in a voice dripping with authority, "Braddock, Tarn be my guest. Ye breach protocol slinging unwarranted insults on my behalf. If ye cannot control thy tongue, remove thyself from my presence lest I embrace thy jeering barbs as my own."

Braddock slammed his wine down and left the hall, but not before giving Tarn a prolonged glare that said this issue was far from being resolved. Sir Goth seated himself quietly, thankful to have avoided Lord Landrew's unexpected wrath. Never before had a peasant dared to openly question a nobleman without serious consequences. What power did this outlander hold over Lord Landrew?

"Tarn," began Lord Landrew seating himself, "pray ye dismiss Braddock's hastily thrown words. He protects my daughter, acting out of concern for her well-being." To Aliesha he said, "If Tarn accepts thee, then I can do naught but concede permission as well. Ye be of age, and I have no right beyond my love for a daughter to forbid thee. 'Tis soft thing I've raised. Travel well and keep my honour as your own."

Aliesha laid a grateful hand upon her father's hand, blue eyes sparkling in triumph, then with love, before asking, "Do ye ride Tarn?"

"No. I've not acquired that skill, but I can run, and that is sufficient at night."

Aliesha held her tongue. If he wanted to run two leagues each way, that was his stubborn choice. Besides, something about his confidence, and the way her father unequivocally accepted his counsel, gave her due to reason to accept his words at face value. Also, that her brother disdained to voice his objection, confirmed the prudence of her decision.

Once Tarn departed the hall to gather supplies out of his pack for the night ahead, and the three of them were alone, Sir Tarl turned to his sister, saying, "Thee have etched an impression upon Barath's young friend."

"Nonsense," she denounced. "He doth not seem the type to be easily impressed. Thee heard clearly, the women of his village are judged by merit; as equals, I suspect, and not by shallow qualities such as looks or gender. A lesson yet to be learned in this house!" she quipped, cunningly aiming her barb.

"Och. And thee boast bountiful merit with thy silky hair and merry eyes," parried her brother.

"These eyes have bettered thee with a bow on more than one occasion, and ye should well remember my hair since it is all thee glimpse on horseback! Tighten thy tongue, or bay merciful havoc, brother of mine."

Lord Landrew reclined comfortably in his chair, listening to a never-ending, ancient childhood battle. At Aliesha's last remark, the one that he considered to be matchpoint, he laughed heartily, then advised, "Save thy fight for the trail. This be no tame forest hunt. Get ye hence to the stables. Tarn will be waiting. He is just as likely to leave by himself, as with ye."

* * * * * * *

Up in his chamber, Tarn slung a coil of dark rope over one shoulder and across his chest bandolier fashion. He chose to abandon his hip sword, transferring his broadsword to his back harness, then tucked a few items inside his vest, before departing the chamber to catch up to Barath. At the first landing, Barath was nowhere in sight. In his stead, Lord Landrew awaited a private word.

"I would speak with ye, lad," when Tarn nodded assent, Lord Landrew continued, "Braddock is loyal and capable, my most senior man. The politics of a hold are a tiresome pursuit. Pray ye do not take his slings to heart."

"I know naught of politics," Tarn avowed. "Under thy roof, I am a guest. In my village one doth not dishonour his host by drawing first steel."

"Fair enough. I have one other request to make of ye. My daughter is a wild one, prone to rash actions. She is very much her father's daughter, true," he said proudly. "Keep her safe from harm. My men are competent, but none have the combined skills of Barath and ye."

"On the hunt, she be warrior brethren. I will abide my duty to each, as they to me."

"That's all I ask. I am in thy debt again," Lord Landrew said, bowing slightly.

"Bah. 'Tis a warrior's duty to do what ye ask. None less for Braddock, no matter our petty squabble," Tarn scoffed, dismissing the argument, inexperienced at coping with the myriad of unfamiliar social values and customs and soothing tender prides.

Lord Landrew scrutinized Tarn's unflinching gaze. He saw naught but truth and courage; a total absence of trickery and deceit. The lad possessed an uncompromising code of honour that few men ever achieved in adulthood, so basic and simple, that it might initially be mistaken for ignorance and backwardness by the unwise. "Good journey, son of Connor. May the Gods favour ye this eve," blessed Lord Landrew, clapping him on the shoulder before striding off down the hallway.

Tarn grunted his reply and considered Landrew's benediction. Vulcan scorned interfering with the lives of men, leaving them to their own devices, unlike another God he knew. There was much to be said for a deity who neither helped, nor hindered a warrior, but left him alone to succeed or fail. Better to count on one's capabilities than on a whimsical being who may or may not intercede. Good fortune favoured the prepared and the skilled. Tarn refused to acknowledge chance and luck. Leave those qualities to those who prayed for holy intercession.