John Dalmas - The Lion of Farside

Melody left then, while Macurdy walked their guests to the front door and out onto the lawn, where he shook hands with the three of them: Jeremid, Tarlok, and the Teklan, Asperel, who'd felt a little out of place with these ex-rebel comrades. They waited without saying a lot, while their orderlies saddled and brought their horses. Then Macurdy watched them ride off in the dusk before going inside and up to his suite.

He'd half expected Melody to be waiting naked, but she fooled him. She'd undressed, but put on a robe found in a closet. And with the robe, a serious face.

"Did I tell you you're beautiful, spear maiden?" he asked quietly.

"No, but I knew it anyway. Pretty, at least."

"Did I tell you I've been looking forward to this?"

Her gaze was searching. "Have you really?"

He stepped to her, put his arms around her inside her robe, and pulling her close, kissed her, then kissed her again before stepping back.

"Take your clothes off, Macurdy," she said quietly. "Unless you'd rather I did it for you."

He took them off himself while she watched. When he was naked, she dropped her robe. "Do you know what, Macurdy?"

He stared. "What, Melody?" He'd have to stop calling her spear maiden, he decided. She was too beautiful.

"I'm nervous," she said quietly. "I can't believe it, but I'm nervous. And the bath is hot. Hot enough that I closed the flue from the stove."

He took her hand. "Then let's go try it out."

They walked into the small adjacent bath. The tub was tiled and half sunken, big enough for four or five to sit. The water wasn't as hot as he'd expected, but more than warm enough, given that it was Six-Month and the room warmed by the stove. They sat not across from each other, but side by side, and within seconds were kissing again, embracing, fondling. Without either suggesting it, they got to their feet and clambered dripping from the tub. Towels had been set out on a bench, and they dried hurriedly, then went into the bedroom.

Later they donned robes and stepped out onto a balcony that overlooked fields. Dusk had thickened into twilight, and twilight into night, with the crescent moon still well up in the west. There was a cushioned bench, and they sat down on it together, for some time simply holding hands, saying nothing. At length Melody turned and found him looking at her. "I love you, Macurdy," she murmured. "I really do. I have all along, but now it's different. You're a marvelous lover. I thought you'd probably be rough the first time, like a stallion, you're so damned big and strong. And that would have been fine. But you're not. You're thoughtful and loving, and you do the right thing at the right time. It was nicer than I'd ever imagined."

She leaned and kissed him. "This is going to last a long time," she murmured. They kissed some more, and her hand slipped inside his robe. A minute later they went back inside.

Private Olvi Kalister stood on the porch beside the front entrance, spear butted by his right foot, thoughts on what he imagined was going on inside. He had a wife back at North Fork, whom he hadn't seen now for-he didn't pay much attention to dates, but it seemed like a long time. A mosquito hummed beside his face, then touched down on his cheek, and absently he crushed it.

"Did you get him?" Private Malakum murmured.

"If I didn't, I scared shit out of him."

"I'll bet they're not paying any attention to mosquitoes upstairs."

"I've heard that mosquitoes don't bite Macurdy. Flies either, or cooties."

I'll bet right now they could bite his bobbing ass twenty at a time, Malakum told himself, and he'd never notice. "You hear all kinds of things," he said.

"I heard that when he went in and yanked the Kormehri around the other night, there was a ball of fire on the point of his saber."

Malakum said nothing; he tended to skepticism. On the other hand, Macurdy'd done some uncanny stuff, in front of people Malakum knew well.

The door opened between the two men, and Corporal Freck stepped out. "You guys thirsty?" he asked in a half whisper.

The sentries' attention sharpened. "What have you got in mind?"

The corporal chuckled. "A couple of us were snooping around the basement with a torch. Found a trapdoor in the floor, and went down in." He held out a small jug. "It's where they store their ale. We figured if the bigwigs could have a party, we ought to have one too. A little one, not enough to get drunk and in trouble. To celebrate the wedding. And the war being over without us getting killed; now there's a reason! This one's yours." He handed it to Malakum. "The stopper's out-didn't want it lying on the porch in the morning-but no one's drunk out of it yet. Just keep quiet, and bring the jug with you when you're relieved."

He went back in and closed the door softly behind him. Malakum took a swig, exhaled a forcible "Ah!" and handed the bottle to Olvi. "Good stuff," he said. "Strong."

Olvi drank and grunted. "Better than my Uncle Loth brews. Freck is all right, bringing us this." They continued passing it back and forth, and after a bit sat down on the top step, their spears lying beside them. Olvi had been part of Orthal's Company when Macurdy first turned up, and without exaggerating much, told stories about their commander. By the time the jug was empty, each man had relieved his bladder onto a shrub, and the moon had set.

Then a woman's scream tore the air, from inside, and both guards jumped to their feet, spears in hand, unsure where it had come from, though it almost had to be… It was followed almost at once by a roar of anger, also inside, and a moment later another, this time from the balcony outside the marshal's suite.

"Get beneath the balcony!" Malakum snapped, then banged through the door, headed for the stairs, and bounded up three at a time. From the far wing, boots hammered down the hall, for the windows were open, and the screams had reached the guardroom. At the last door on his left, he grabbed the handle, turned it and yanked, then dashed in. The only light came from the corridor, enough to see dimly a large figure half dragging and half carrying a smaller, who was struggling and swearing. The marshal's voice shouted, "Bring a lamp, for God's sake!" and Malakum sprinted back out to take one from a tripod in the hall. By that time two more guardsmen came dashing up, one of them barefoot, and ran in.

The marshal stood naked, one thick arm across the throat of a man fully dressed. Blood ran down the marshal's right forearm, and both men were smeared with it. The bed was overturned, the mattress partly beside and partly beneath it. "Get manacles," he said, his voice controlled now. "And turn the bed over. I think Colonel Melody's under the mattress."

Malakum, holding the lamp, stared while the barefoot guard upended the bed onto its feet and threw the mattress on it. On the floor was the marshal's naked bride, bloody from face to feet, either dead or unconscious. More men came in. Malakum looked back at the marshal. The officer of the guard tried to manacle the intruder, and when he resisted, the marshal's arm tightened against the attacker's throat till he went slack.

As soon as the man was shackled, the marshal moved to his wife, swept the sheet off the bed and threw it to a guard. "Make bandages!" he snapped, and the guard began to tear it into broad strips. The marshal's hands went to two of his bride's worst knife wounds, and he began to chant. After a minute he turned to the guardsmen, his voice level but intense. "Send someone to the Sisters. Fast! Tell Sister Omara what's happened, and bring her right away. And take that-" he gestured with his head at the prisoner "-outside. But don't damage him. I'll do the damaging myself, later."

Then he turned back to his bride as if none of them were there, continuing to touch and chant while Private Malakum stood wooden with dismay.