Лорел Гамильтон - Strange Candy

She reached for Leech, and it leapt to her hand. Shield held close, she pushed open the door. They had just stepped into the inky blackness when Gannon said, “Someone teleports nearby.”

There was no time for stealth. If they hoped to trace the teleport, they had to find the point of departure quickly. Gannon said, “This way.” Against all caution, she let the wizard lead in a mad flight up the broad stairs. Two dim lanterns threw pools of shadow and light on the steps. She glimpsed her own reflection in half a dozen gilt-edged mirrors. Glass and gold were both rare and costly. Bardolf was well off indeed.

Light spilled from a room at the end of a long hallway. Dark rooms with closed doors led up to that one shining door. Sidra pushed past Gannon so she could enter the room first.

It was a bedroom. Silks and pillows were strewn over the carpet like a child’s toys, used and carelessly forgotten. A huge candelabra hung from the ceiling, and it sparkled like pure gold. A sobbing woman knelt on the carpet. Her raven-black hair was thrown over her face, and she curled naked near a pile of clothing.

Gannon strode to the middle of the room and picked up a now-blank scroll. He sniffed it as if he were a hound on the scent of a fox and said, “I have it.”

There was no time, and Sidra stood beside the sorcerer. As the woman glanced up, Sidra had a glimpse of a lovely pale face that was bruised and battered.

The world spun and Sidra caught her breath. They faced outward, back to back. Sidra crouched, sword and shield ready. Then she recognized the throne room of Duke Haydon. Bardolf had run home to his daddy. Someone shouted orders, and the room was suddenly full of the red and silver of Duke Haydon’s

guards. Sidra wondered if they would have time to explain before someone died.

It was the head of the guards, Jevik, who recognized them and called, “Hold!” He strode forward through his men and stood before Sidra. He sheathed his sword, and she did likewise. Leech complained about missing such a lovely sight.

Jevik only blinked. He had fought beside her and tasted the sword’s humor before. “Why are you here like this, Sidra?”

“It is a long story, Jevik. But we give chase to an outlaw.”

“What sort of outlaw?”

“One who would kill a bard.”

“Did this bard give up his safe conduct?”

“He never had the chance. He was attacked in his room, alone.”

Jevik waved the guards back and said, “And how did you trace this outlaw here?”

“Gannon traced a teleport.”

“Come, we will talk to the duke,” Jevik said.

The guards had formed a wary but respectful line to either side of the newcomers. Lord Haydon himself sat upon his throne. His beard was still as full and gray as before. He did not shave because it was court fashion to be smooth-faced. And he did not waste sorcery on looking younger than his years. He smiled a greeting at them and extended his hands.

“Sidra Ironfist, you who saved my castle and all that I own.” She bowed and took his hands. He touched hands with Gannon and saw the sorcerer wince. The duke drew a sharp breath when he saw Gannon’s hands. “Go with one of the guards and use my own healer.”

Sidra did not like the idea of Gannon being separated from her. He looked at her a moment, smiled, and followed a guard from the room. He was right, of course. When a noble offers you hospitality, you do not refuse it.

“Now, Sidra, tell me what has brought you here so unexpectedly.”

She told the story quietly, leaving out only the name of the curse-maker.

Haydon’s eyes were a glittering icy blue when she finished. “It is against all civilized laws to harm a bard. How are we to hear of the great deeds of heroes if bards are not safe in battle?” He asked her then, “And do you have a name for this outlaw?”

“Yes, my lord. It is Bardolf the Curse-Maker.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it. An angry flush crept up his neck. “These are grave accusations, Sidra. If you leave now and say no more of this, I will let it pass.”

“It pains me to have to bring you such news, Duke Haydon, but it is the truth. I swear it.”

He took a deep breath that shook with rage and perhaps a touch of apprehension. Sidra wondered if others had come before her and told tales of evil against Bardolf. If so, they had been bullied into silence.

Sidra would not be bullied. She did not want to believe that Haydon would simply kill her out of hand, but if that was the case, she would not die easily.

At last the duke said, “You will persist in this lie against my son?”

“It is not a lie, my lord.”

“Jevik, have my son sent to me now.” The guardsman half-ran from the room.

Gannon was back with his newly healed hands before Bardolf was escorted in.

Bardolf strode in just ahead of Jevik. He was short, with the sof tlines of a man who has never done physical labor.

His sensual pouting mouth was set in a confident smile. He was dressed all in brown silk worked with black pearls. When he saw Sidra and Gannon, his smile vanished. Jevik led him in front of the duke, then stepped back, leaving Sidra, Gannon, and Bardolf in a semicircle around the throne.

Bardolf greeted his father first and then very correctly turned to Sidra and Gannon. “Sidra Ironfist and Gannon the Sorcerer. How good to see you again.” He stared up at his father, eyes unreadable. “Father, what is this all about?”

Haydon sat very still upon his throne and kept his face blank. He was a noble and knew how to hide his emotions. He told his son of the accusations. Confusion, then anger crossed Bardolfs face. Sidra would almost have believed the act herself. Some people had a true talent for lying.

“Would you convict me of such a vile crime on the word of an information peddler?”

The Duke smiled. “No, Bardolf, not on that alone. I want you to take an oath for me.”

“Of course, Father.”

“Swear by the birds of Loth and the hounds of Verm that you did not harm Milon Songsmith.”

“I have never taken such an evil oath!”

“It is only evil if you have something to fear. Swear, Bardolf, swear to it.”

“If you insist.”

“I do.”

“I swear by the birds of. .I swear.” He stared up at his father, a sort of pleading look upon his face. Haydon’s noble mask slipped, showing pain in his eyes.

“Swear.” His voice held a note of begging.

“I cannot, Father.”

“If you are innocent, the oath means nothing. You are guilty, then.”

“I cannot take the oath you ask. Perhaps another to Mother Gia.”

Haydon looked down at the floor and drew a deep breath. He seemed suddenly older than he had a moment before. “Only the oath to Loth and Verm is binding enough for this. Will you swear?”

“No, Father.”

The duke’s face seemed to crumble. The tears that threatened in his eyes were chased away by anger. The same anger he had been willing to use against Sidra, to protect his child, now turned against his son. “Why, Bardolf? Have I not shared my wealth with you?”

“Yes, Father.”

“Then why?” He stood and walked the few steps to stand before his son—the son who could still look him in the eye and lie, even now.

Bardolf said, “You gave me crumbs from your table, Father. I wanted my own table. My own money. My own lands.”

“I have given you all that and more.”

Bardolf shook his head. “They are mine until I anger you. Then you take them away as a punishment, as if they were sweets and I were a child.”

“There are honest ways to make money!”

“Not enough money.”

“Not enough, not enough!” Haydon raised a hand as if to strike him. Bardolf cringed, throwing up a hand. The duke stepped back. Sidra watched the man gain control of himself. It was a painful thing to see. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and controlled. “Do you know the penalty in Meltaan for killing a bard?”