Gav Thorpe - The Crown of the Conqueror

Wiping his hand over his mouth, Noran noticed a yellow hue to his skin. He opened his other eye carefully, expecting more sickness but none came. His fingernails were brittle, cracked, the flesh wasted away to reveal bulging knuckles.

Noran raised his fingertips to his face, felt hollow, fleshless cheeks and a sheen of sweat. His body trembled from weakness and he lay still for a moment, his breath shallow, heart beating perilously weak. Hunger gnawed at him, every bone ached and his eyes burned even in the gloom, the calls of the bird shrill in his ears.

"Cannot stay here," he said, his voice a wheeze that shocked him. He took a ragged breath and sat up quickly, preparing himself for the wave of dizziness that struck. Glancing down, he saw that he was naked. Checking the room slowly he saw no wardrobe or chest that might contain clothes. "Not the first time I have had to run naked from a house," he reminded himself with a chuckle.

He gingerly swung his legs free and pushed himself to the edge of the bed. One hand on the wooden frame, he hauled himself up, steadier than he had expected. Movement seemed to help, quickening his pulse, strengthening fibres and sinews not used for a long while.

Noran slid his foot through the pile of the carpet in a faltering step, half-twisted to maintain his balance with the help of the bedstead. Like a child, he reluctantly released his hold and tottered forward a few paces, a smile on his face.

"Congratulations," he told himself. "Next you can teach yourself how to piss standing up. Come on, this is no time to be cautious."

His confidence fuelling his steps, he walked to the window and pushed back one of the shutters. Daybreak was not far off, the glow to dawnwards visible above the houses on the opposite side of the street. As yet the city was not awake. He dredged his memories for everything he knew of Magilnada from the time he had spent here before Ullsaard's pretend liberation. Noran had walked every street and alley and square over those long days of misery. The recollection brought a stab of pain as he remembered his depression, caused by the death of his wife and unborn son.

Holding himself up on the sill of the window, Noran bowed his head for a moment, the emotional agony of the memory greater than any soreness in his atrophied body. He fought back tears, fingers gripping the sill tightly, picturing the lovely Neerita. Looking back into the street, he realised Ullsaard's family were still in the house they had shared with Noran and his other wife, Anriit. He wondered if Neerita's older sister still lived here, and whether he would bother taking her from the city.

The creak of a foot on a floorboard outside the door caused Noran to spin. The handle turned and he staggered across the chamber as the door opened. A middle-aged woman in the garb of servant stepped inside, eyes widening in surprise and Noran lunged, grabbing her arm in one hand, clamping his other over her mouth as he dragged her inside.

She struggled and his weak body failed him, losing his grip on both her arm and face as he tumbled to the carpet.

"Master Noran!" the woman yelped, crouching beside him.

"Hush woman! Do not speak, but listen!"

With the maid's help, Noran regained his feet and leaned against the wall, signalling for the servant to close the door. When she had done so, he pulled her towards the bed and they both sat down.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Laasinia," the woman replied, eyes averted from the noble's nakedness. "I am Queen Allenya's senior handmaiden."

"Yes, Laasinia, I am remembering now," said Noran. He took her hand in his, squeezing it in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. "Look at me, Laasinia."

She turned her head, eyes betraying her confusion.

"It is important that you listen to exactly what I say, and not to waste time with asking why," he told her. She nodded. "First of all, do not tell anyone of my recovery yet."

"But Queen Meliu…"

Noran hushed her with a wave of his hand.

"Not yet," he said. "I need you to get me clothes, first."

"A chest of your robes and shirts is in another room," said Laasinia, standing up. Noran pulled her back and she tried to step away.

"No, not my own clothes," he said, thinking as quickly as he could. "Is there a servant of right height and build?

Laasinia looked him up and down and nodded again.

"Saamiaris is about your size," she said. "He is a cook. He has already left for the market; I can get clothes from his room."

"Good," said Noran, standing up. "When you have done that you must find other clothes, for your mistresses."

Again Laasinia opened her mouth to speak and Noran raised a finger to silence her.

"Do not ask me how I know, but there has been threat made against Ullsaard's family," he explained, the words coming quickly. "They are in danger, right now. The longer we stay here, the more dangerous it will be. I have to get them out of the city, and servants' clothes will make a good disguise. Do you understand?"

"Not everything," Laasinia admitted, "but I will do as you say. Shall I wake my mistresses?"

"When I am more respectable, I shall attend to that," said Noran. "Tell me, does my wife, Anriit, still live here?"

"She left," Laasinia said, embarrassed. "She has returned to Askh to seek the annulment of your marriage."

"One less thing to worry about," muttered Noran. He focussed on Laasinia. "Try not to let on to the other servants what you are doing. The house may be watched, and I do not know if the man who wishes harm to your mistresses has his own people in the household."

Even as he spoke the words, Noran wondered if he could trust the woman. She had served Ullsaard's family back in Askh, he remembered, but it was possible that Anglhan might have turned her loyalties. It was too late now, he realised.

"Can you do these things?" he asked.

"I will," said Laasinia. "The kitchen staff have taken the cart to the market, but I shall send a boy for another to take you to the gates."

"Good thinking," Noran said, patting her on the arm. "Do not say what is for."

"Of course not," she said, offended by the suggestion. "If the matter is as serious as you say, I will see my mistresses safely away from the city, do not doubt that."

Noran leaned forward and kissed Laasinia on the forehead, startling her.

"You are a gem, Laasinia," he said. "I am sure Allenya and Meliu will be very grateful."

"Let us hurry," said the maidservant, stepping briskly away. "It is market day and the streets will be busy by mid-Dawnwatch. Better that we are on our way before then."

Noran nodded and watched her as she opened the door and slipped outside, closing it quietly behind her. It opened again a moment later, causing Noran to jump. He relaxed as he saw Laarisia's face peer around the frame.

"You look like you need food, master," she said. "I'll bring something with the clothes."

Before Noran could thank her, she was gone again, her footsteps fading on the landing beyond the door. He paced back and forth at the foot of the bed as he waited, trying to come up with a list of things he would need. A weapon of some sort would be good. He wandered back to the window, scrutinising the street for any sign of somebody watching the house. It was impossible to say; dozens of windows on the houses along the street could see the main gate to the courtyard. He consoled himself with the thought that at least they were not locked up in some dungeon somewhere. Compared to that, smuggling themselves out of the city would be easy.

He turned quickly as the door opened again. Laasinia entered with a bundle of clothes in her arms, some bread and fruit perched atop the pile. She laid these on the bed with a nod to the nobleman and left again without a word. Though now ravenous, Noran took a cautious bite of an apple. It tasted sweet as juice ran down his throat and he fought the urge to finish off in a few bites, wary of taxing his shrunken gut. He had heard tales of the ailments that had befallen legionnaires over-indulging after long campaigns on march rations. He dragged on a heavy woollen kilt, apple held between his teeth, and tied the roped fastenings, marvelling at how skinny he was. The fit was adequate; for a cook, Saamirias did not sample much of his labours it seemed.