Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

“You are all surely correct,” the count allowed with a final sigh, unable to keep from chuckling at having his future grandsons termed “kittens.” “The girl will retire early, perhaps with tears, and in the morning will be capable again of smiles. The hour of the day remains early, yet is the feast 1 promised now ready for consumption. Shall we drink a bit more, or retire to the tables?”

“Drink, I trust, is also available at your board, and we have traveled far in the days just past,” said Thoheeks Hwill with a second, stronger shoulder clap, grinning in anticipation. “I have heard many things said of the table you set, and the least of them brings instant watering to my mouth.”

“Not to speak of the fact that we must, this night, return Archduke Bili to the camp where most of our escort waits,” said Bryahn, also agrin at his father’s well-known penchant for fine food. “He accompanied us at the High Lord’s request merely to perform introductions, and now must return home with all possible speed.”

“But not without first fortifying myself for the journey,” the ahrkeethoheeks put in, a faint smile on him for the fact known only to himself that his presence had not been merely for introductions. The High Lord Milo’s keen interest would need to be satisfied, and this he was now able to do.

“There was little need to camp your escort a full mile from my city, my lords.” Count Sahm repeated what he had much earlier said, only this time with unarguable firmness as he began to lead the way to his dining hall. “You will, of course, fetch the balance of them back with you after the ahrkeethoheeks is on his way, for there will then no longer be a need for speedy departure. My city may be small, yet is it certainly capable of . . .”

His words trailed off as he and his guests and his sons quitted the room, followed at a discreet distance by those other guests who were the city’s notables. Not all, however, followed with eager anticipation, for there are all sorts of things which might be anticipated. One guest, a man with weak chin and burning eyes, a man who delighted in always being well dressed and never leaving in doubt his excellent upbringing, held his ground in thought while the others followed, then turned and left the reception room by another door. What he anticipated might not be eaten, but after its successful completion it would certainly need to be swallowed.

Full dark had long since descended when Lisah slipped into the deserted stables, laboring to keep herself from rattling. Her mare, White Feet, already expected her, and was not far from stamping in eagerness.

“Why must we be silent, sister?” the mare asked with mindspeak as the girl slipped into the stall, turning her head to watch the arrival. “And why is your chain wrapped rather than upon you?”

“We must be silent for the reason that some men seem capable only of speaking of honor, not of practicing it,” the girl replied in the same way, setting her burden down before reaching for her saddle. “Also, my chain must be wrapped rather than worn, for I have never before worn it on our nightly excursions just without the city’s walls. A last, brisk gallop before retiring is something to be expected of us; an armored gallop is not.”

Which was why she wore no more than boiled leather beneath her swordbelt, her chain mail and bow and shafts and darts carefully wrapped for dropping over the wall. Once she had passed through the gate she would reclaim the bundles, and gave thanks to Sacred Sun that it was chain rather than plate she needed to drop. Chain would cause enough of a racket, but plate would be heard all the way to her destination.

When Lisah had left the reception room to return to her apartment, it was not to shed the tears her father had made mention of. Warriors are more often trained to think and react than to weep, and Lisah had been trained as a warrior. Her floors endured much striding back and forth as she strove to understand what had been done to her, and at long, long last she had reached a conclusion she had not sooner been able to bring herself to.

Her father’s sense of honor had been overcome by flattering attention, the sort he had never before been exposed to. His sense of the right had been warped in the light of the expressed wishes of the High Lord Milo, wishes no man would be expected to ignore.

Lisah had shaken her head at that conclusion, her smoldering anger aimed at the Undying Lord rather than at her beloved father. Never would her father have broken his word if he had not had his head turned so completely, the proof of which was clearly to be seen in his last remarks. She was to believe it mattered that she was female while Dharrehn was not? Wheh had such a difference mattered before, most especially to their father? And why had her brothers not supported her, as they none of them had ever failed to do in the past? Two had fallen in battle and three were away as the four now home would soon be again, but never had any of them refused to aid in her training, all standing firmly behind her right when some wide-bottomed city matron attempted to take it from her with catty criticism.

No, her brothers had been intimidated at mention of the High Lord, and her father had been flattered blind, and now they thought she would add to the dishonor by breaking a word which had been accepted as given. Were she to do such a thing her father would never forgive himself nor her, for he was certain to return to his senses as soon as his high-noble guests were gone. It was her duty to see that they were not dishonored, a di)ty she was most pleased to accept, and should the High Lord be displeased enough to wish vengeance, his wrath would fall only on her. She knew very little about the Undying High Lord, having never before considered him at any great length, yet knew well enough that she had no fear of him. The years she had lived had not been many, yet had there been sufficient of them to show her there was no man she feared.

Lisah had then begun to gather her things, having spent enough hours bringing herself to the realization that she must give her father a small bit of embarrassment to save him from more and worse. She would simply join the Crimson Cat Company sooner than expected, and that would be that. Her father’s “guests” would depart quickly enough when they found her gone, and when she returned home with true battle experience, all would be even better than it had been. She should really have been gone on her way years earlier, at the age her brothers had first left, but she had let her father’s oft-mentioned loneliness keep her home at his side. Now it would fall to Jahk to ease that loneliness, for he was the youngest and she had already had her turn.

She encountered no difficulty with the gate guards, who merely bid her a pleasant ride as always, and also had no difficulty in locating what had previously been dropped over the wall a good distance from the gate. She quickly dismounted, tied her awkward gear to White Feet equally as quickly, then set off obliquely for the road, wasting none of the precious little time she would have. She knew well enough it would have been wiser donning her armor before seeking the road, but without a dresser she would be some time adjusting it all, and when her usual ride-length elapsed without her return, the city guard would be quickly mounted and sent after her. She would need to be well away before that happened, and well concealed before she stopped. The full moon was nearly bright enough to read by, which would make remaining undetected that much more difficult.