Tina Daniell - Dark Heart

Each day, an hour or two before they camped for the night, Strathcoe would leave Patric and Kit, returning with a hare or some other wild game that he prepared for their evening meal. His cooking was surprisingly good. After dinner she and Patric would usually sit arm in arm and talk, enjoying the attentive audience provided by Strathcoe.

Under the starry sky, Kitiara often wondered if the passionate kiss she and Patric had shared that night at Crystalmir Lake would be repeated and pursued further, but strangely, it never was. Strathcoe was never far from the two of them. And like her father, Patric could outlast her with his tales. More than once she woke in the morning without remembering having fallen asleep.

Five days after leaving Solace they neared the bay where Patric's sloop waited. From a rocky promontory they caught their first glimpse of the Straits of Schallsea. Kitiara had never seen such a large body of water, blue and white-capped, extending as far as the eyes could see.

They followed the coastline west for another day before coming to the edge of the bay where they spotted the ship, the Silver Gar, anchored offshore with sails furled around her three masts. Strathcoe pulled a large brass whistle from one of their bags and blew a long high note on it to announce their coming. Colorful flags signaled from the forecastle that they had been seen.

As they approached the ship, sailors hanging from the riggings shouted out a lusty cheer in Patric's honor. Clearly he's a popular lord, thought Kitiara. Many of the men cried out Strathcoe's name as well, she noted. Movement below deck, along the sides of the ship, drew her attention. Poking their horned heads out through some of the shore-side portholes, minotaurs also watched the travelers' arrival. These bestial slaves would pull the oars when the winds were still.

Already several of them had been winched down in a boat to row to shore and bring Patric and the others back. Kit noticed a barge on the beach that would be used to transport the horses to the ship.

When they finally climbed on board, Kitiara also noticed a group of elegantly dressed men and women sitting to one side of the deck. They alone did not greet the new arrivals, although the expressions on their faces indicated that they were relieved to be nearing departure.

"We take some passengers along," explained Patric to Kitiara. "It defrays expenses and helps maintain good relations between my father's estate and nearby lands."

Just then a man strode toward them, moving gracefully with the roll of the ship. He was dressed in leather and braid, and wore a close-fitting striped cap. His face was dominated by a formidable hooked nose and a merry grin. He looked like a man who could be counted on in a fight, thought Kit, but she noticed he carried no weapons. Instead a compass and a looking scope hung from his belt. This was obviously the captain of the Silver Gar.

"Greetings, Patric and Strathcoe," he boomed out, vigorously shaking hands with each of them in turn. Then his eyes took in Kitiara. "And who is this beautiful young lady?"

"Kitiara Uth Matar," she announced, stepping forward to take his hand.

"My betrothed," Patric added smoothly, ignoring the frown Kit sent his way.

Rather than shake her hand, the captain bowed deeply at the waist and kissed it.

A look of wonderment came over Kit's face. The captain's manners were as good as his master's, although Kitiara had the impression steel lay beneath his velvety exterior.

"La Cava," he said flamboyantly as he straightened up. "At your service, m'lady." His eyes registered some delayed impulse. "Uth Matar?" he asked.

Kitiara nodded eagerly. "Perhaps you have heard of my father," she said quickly, "Gregor Uth Matar. His reputation is known far and wide…"

"As?" asked La Cava, letting go of her hand but keeping his eyes on her face.

"As?" Kitiara repeated, puzzled.

"Why, his reputation as what?" asked La Cava evenly.

"Oh," said Kitiara, flustered. "As a great soldier of fortune. An incomparable warrior. A man of honor and integrity."

"Yes, of course," said La Cava. He pondered the name for a moment, before his face assumed a polite mask. "No," he said, "I haven't heard of him."

Patric drew La Cava to one side and whispered in his ear. The captain nodded in response. "Lurie!" the captain cried out.

A tall, bony man with blotchy skin rushed up to the captain's side, his expression obsequious. Dressed in leather shorts with a bare chest, he was obviously one of the mates.

"Lurie," commanded Patric, "give my betrothed my personal quarters and put me in the adjoining room with Strathcoe, the one across the hall. Bring out my mother's trunk and make sure Kitiara has everything she needs-oils and perfumes, the finest clothing."

As Lurie listened, he bent his neck at an angle like a bird and darted sharp, curious eyes in her direction. When Patric finished, Lurie extended a bony forearm to Kit. "Follow me, my lovely."

Kitiara was about to protest-she hardly needed to be spoiled-when Patric touched her on the arm gently and said, "Go now. I will join you for dinner."

Kit shrugged and grinned. As she was escorted below by Lurie, she knew several dozen pair of eyes were fixed on her. Indeed, she felt like royalty already.

Her cabin was in the gallery below the deck, with wide portholes that showed an expanse of sea. A comfortable looking bed, a chest of drawers, and a small writing table were built into the cabin's walls. Lurie watched Kit nervously as she walked around and touched things. It was as if she had to be sure they were real, that this wasn't a dream. When she finally turned to dismiss the captain's mate, he held up his hand in a gesture, bent down, and pulled a case from under the bed.

Lurie unsnapped the lock, and Kit could see that the trunk was carefully packed with all variety of fine clothing. Lurie, seeming to know just what he wanted, reached into it and drew out a yellow silk dress that had a low neckline and long billowing sleeves.

"Very pretty," he said, grinning and winking. "Pretty dress for lovely lady."

Kit snatched the dress from his hands, but she couldn't help but smile. It was all a little ridiculous, especially Lurie with his bent neck and birdy mannerisms. She had never seen, much less worn, such a dress. But as she took it in her hands and felt the softness of the fabric, Kitiara reveled in the luxury of it.

"Try," said Lurie.

Kit held it up against her body and saw that it would fit as if made for her. Lurie, his gaze curious, gave her an encouraging smile. He opened the door of a built-in closet, revealing a full-length mirror.

Slowly she approached the mirror. The person in it seemed not to be herself, but some princess. In the reflection she could see Lurie back out the door, his eyes taking one last look at the beautiful betrothed of his master.

"Set sail!"

With its canvas snapping in the wind, the sloop got underway.

The afternoon heat blistered the deck, relieved only occasionally by a slight breeze. Lurie and Strathcoe had paired off midship, making a contest of throwing knives at a puppet figure tied to one of the masts.

"Bad throw, bad throw, dearie," said Lurie, clucking his tongue and shaking his head as he ambled up to the puppet. Once his back blocked Strathcoe's view, Lurie surreptitiously pulled the knife out of the target's dead center and moved it an inch or so to one side.

His gargantuan opponent stormed up to the mast. Strathcoe cast Lurie a suspicious look, then grunted and pulled out his knife with such force that the puppet came loose and dangled upside-down on a string. Then he circled his arm, as thick as a vallenwood branch, around Lurie's waist and lifted him up against the mast, miming that the captain's mate could be the new target.