What he lacked in physical stature, he made up for in sheer presence, I have to say that much for him. He was of moderate height, dressed mostly in black. His arms were bare but swathed in tattoos of equally black dragons intertwining 'round one another. At first glance the arms themselves looked una.s.suming, but closer inspection revealed corded muscle that indicated considerable strength. He had long black hair and dark, deep-set eyes, partially obscured by an overhanging brow, that seemed to take in everything that was happening in the hall with one sweep. He had a mustache so long that either end dangled significantly below his chin, and sported his arrogance like a newly acquired ermine cape.

"Greeting . . . my friends." He held out the "s" in "friends" in a snake-like, sibilant manner. His voice was low and gravelly, and when he spoke it was in a very deliberate, unhurried manner. It was not a bad way of talking; it indicated that you were so important that everyone had to stand around and wait for you to take your time getting to whatever point it was that you were going to make. "I thank you for coming to join me in my time of celebration."

"All hail the nuptials of the dreaded Warlord Shank!" one person called out, and others took up the chant. Shank smiled as he sauntered to a large chair covered in skulls and sat in it. There was another chair next to him, composed of smaller skulls-those of children, by the look of it. I felt the ham and bread heaving in protest in my stomach, repulsed by the notion . . . and repulsed even further when I noticed that the skulls looked very freshly polished, indicating that the chair was quite new. I couldn't help but picture helpless children being hauled off somewhere, to be beheaded and skinned for the purpose of adding new furniture to the warlord's abode. I could practically hear their screams ringing in my ears. Entipy, for her part, remained detached from the entire thing. Sometimes I wondered if she even truly knew where she was, or if she had somehow separated herself from it all just so she could deal with it. If it was the latter, I envied her and wished I could do the same.

The name "Shank!" had been taken up in a chant, repeated steadily as the warlord smiled in acknowledgment of his popularity. He allowed it to go on for some brief time before putting up his hands and indicating that they'd best calm themselves.

"Until now," he continued, "I have sated my legendary l.u.s.ts in the violation of my victims, with no interest in a wife since my concerns lay elsewhere." He began to walk the room, and it was only at that point that I noticed the sword strapped to his back. The thing looked huge, with a small skull shape visible at the pommel. At least I certainly hoped it was just a shape, rather than the skull of a child ripped from its mother's womb at a tender age in order to provide ornamentation for Shank's blade. "My priority has always been my corps of soldiers. I have trained them, disciplined them, worked them until they were ready to drop and then continued to work them. I have had very little concern for my own time upon this world, for one does not become a warlord and expect to die of old age. Instead, my soldier corps was to be my legacy when my life is done. You all know my motto: Live fast. Die young. And leave a good-looking corps."

There were nods of a.s.sent from all around, and more reflexive cries of "Hail the Warlord."

"However . . . however!" he called several times to get his voice over the chants, until they died down. "Recently, in my pillaging and plundering . . . efforts that had met with triumph in all lands except Isteria . . ." He said that last with enormous disgust, and immediately cries of "Down with King Runcible! Runcible will die! Runcible will fall!" were taken up throughout the hall.

Entipy was busying herself slipping more meat between two more wedges of bread. The shouts didn't seem to register on her at all, or at least paled in interest compared to the food.

"In my pillaging . . . I met a woman. Not just any woman, mind you . . . the the woman . . ." woman . . ."

"A woman who can keep up with your l.u.s.ts, my lord?" shouted one n.o.ble, and there was raucous laughter from all around, whistles and cheers.

The warlord smirked at that. "She comes close. Do not think that I haven't tried her out. One doesn't purchase a Heffer without taking a few rides."

More shouts, more guffaws. Apparently a man's worth in these parts was measured by the size of his "l.u.s.ts." Well, it certainly seemed more practical than honor or bravery, and certainly more entertaining during its practice.

"She is n.o.bility, of course," he continued, and his smirk widened. "She has pleasured no man before your warlord, for no one has been man enough to seize her interest. Her beauty is unparalleled and, not only that . . . but I suspect she will provide me the son that even my closest advisors have told me I owe my people as a symbol of our continued success.

"My fellow lords and ladies . . . may I present to you . . . Stela, the Countess of Pince-Nez!" And he swept his arm theatrically toward the door behind him.

She entered then, and my heart came close to stopping.

She had on a dress of crushed purple velvet, a glittering necklace that could only be diamond, and an a.s.sortment of golden rings and other pricey baubles. She had thick blond hair piled upon her head. She had a lovely smile. She had an ample bosom. And she had all my money in the world.

It was Astel, the tavern b.i.t.c.h who had nearly caved my head in and spread my mother's ashes all over me.

And fate had handed me the opportunity to make an ash out of her in return. Because I was the only person in the room who knew that the warlord's beloved bride-to-be was nothing more than a fraud. There was no question that I was going to take advantage of this knowledge. The only thing at issue was how I was going to do it.

Chapter 19.

What's happened? Something's happened." Entipy was looking at me very closely. I have to say, not much slipped past her. She was able to intuit, just by my manner, that a new dynamic had been introduced into the mix.

"Nothing," I said in a low voice.

"Don't lie to me." There, for just a moment, was that famed sharpness and snappishness that I'd come to a.s.sociate with her. Her eyes seemed to bore right into me. "Something's going on. Is it bad?"

"No. It's good, actually. It's very good, providing I play it right. And you're going to have to trust me to handle this. Understood?"

"Now listen, squire-"

I rounded on her then, speaking in a voice that was both soft and yet filled with warning. "Are you out of your mind? Don't address me that way, even if you're whispering . . . even if you're mouthing it. It's not enough that the walls have ears; in case you haven't noticed it, the furniture has bones. And I don't know about you, but I've no intention of being added to them. Now shut up!"

She looked as if she wanted to say more, but instead she silenced herself. I couldn't have been more grateful. "Now stay here," I told her as I made my way around the table. I glanced around, saw a large open bottle of wine, and s.n.a.t.c.hed it. As I did so, I draped a cloth over my arm so as to give an impression that I was a wine server.

"Where are you going?" she whispered.

I didn't respond because I couldn't think of a reply that might not endanger us. This game had to be played very, very carefully.

Slowly I made my way across the room. As I did so, I stopped every few feet, smiled, bobbed my head subserviently, and poured refills from the bottle for any guests of the warlord who looked as if they were in danger of becoming remotely sober. The entire time I never took my eyes off Astel. I couldn't hear anything that anyone was saying to her from where I was, but I could see that she was greatly enjoying herself. She was not standing right by the warlord's side, but she always remained in range of him. That meant that I was going to have to get very, very close in order to achieve my goal.

It was not something that I was looking forward to. The nearer I got to the warlord, the more aware I became of just how brutal and vicious he could be. I could see it in his eyes . . . or rather, I couldn't, because he had cold, dead eyes, like a shark is reputed to have. The kind that shrivel your soul if they happen to light upon you. The closer I drew, the more I felt as if I were not at a celebration . . . but a wake. A wake being held for the attendees themselves. Yes, that was it. Everyone around me . . . was already dead. But no one wanted to acknowledge it. They were too afraid to. So I was surrounded by walking corpses, celebrating their dark G.o.d, and no one wanting to admit that they were all d.a.m.ned and doomed. And if I didn't get out of here, I would be one of them.

But it didn't stop me from getting closer still, all the time pouring wine and nodding and acting as if I lived only to bring half-empty mugs up to their proper, filled state of being. Fifteen paces from Astel, then ten, then nine. She still hadn't noticed me. Why should she? No one notices the help.

I was taking a tremendous risk. Everything hinged on my catching Astel off-guard, of maintaining the upper hand emotionally. If somehow she gained control of the situation, I was undone. Part of me scolded me, telling me that if I had any brains at all, I would back off this mad adventure. But if I gave it the slightest moment's thought, I was able to conjure up for myself what it felt like when she sent the urn smashing into my head. I could still taste ash between my teeth and stinging my eyes, still recall the sense of humiliation and frustration as I slumped into unconsciousness, all because of her. I had made peace with myself that I was not brave or honorable, but if I turned away from this, I would never be able to live with myself.

Eight paces, seven, and she was laughing at something her dead-eyed husband-to-be was saying. Casually, ever so casually, she turned and her gaze took in an a.s.sortment of people, including me. I froze exactly where I was, concentrating all my focus upon her, as if I could drive a message into her brain by sheer willpower alone.

She looked through me and past me. In truth, there was no reason that she should have recognized me immediately. I was older and scruffier than when she'd last seen me, not to mention hundreds of miles away. It wasn't as if she was scanning the crowd to prepare herself lest Apropos show his face; there was no earthly reason for me to be on her mind at all.

And yet for all the reasons she had for not recognizing me, I still felt a flicker of doubt. What if . . . I was wrong? What if this was not Astel? What if she had a previously unknown identical twin, or this woman was simply a look-alike? It could be, after all, that it was my memory that was faulty. That I was so eager to gain a measure of retribution upon Astel that I was ready to see her face d.a.m.ned near anywhere if it meant I might have the opportunity to get back a measure of the pride I'd lost that stormy night long ago.

At the exact moment that doubts were surfacing, leading me to think that I was mistaken, that was when her head snapped back around and she looked right at me. I had the great good pleasure of watching every bit of blood drain out of her face, her makeup now looking incredibly bright red against the lack of color in her skin.

I had her, then. I knew I did. I said nothing, did nothing, didn't even acknowledge her with a nod. I just stared at her, hard, as if I was capable of blasting her brain out the back of her head with the power of my eyes alone.

Suddenly she started to take a deep breath, and I knew instantly that she was reflexively getting ready to scream. I didn't act the least bit perturbed. I simply shook my head very slowly, and then nodded with a slight tip of my head in the direction of the doors she'd originally come through.

Her hand fluttered to her bosom and I was close enough to her to hear her say to Shank, "My . . . apologies, husband-to-be . . . I feel unwell."

The dreaded Warlord Shank did not seem perturbed by this. "Mayhap you have the child sickness and are already carrying my heir." It was all the more chilling to hear words of amorous, even loving affect issuing from a face possessing eyes that pitiless.

"Anything is possible, milord," she said with a glance in my direction that seemed to indicate that my very presence there was proof of the sentiment. "I would . . . retire . . . if that would suit Your Lordship's pleasure."

His face darkened, and I suddenly found myself wondering if he was as hard on fiancees as he was on the serving staff. "It would not. This gathering is for my n.o.bles to meet you. If you depart so early, it will make you seem weak . . . and, by extension, me as well."

"For a brief time, only," Astel said with more urgency, looking my way surrept.i.tiously. "That is all, my lord. Tell them . . . tell them whatever you wish. You are their warlord. They will listen to you."

Appealing to his overweening instinct was definitely the proper move to make. Shank considered what she said and nodded. "You do look a bit . . . pallid. Do you need help to get you to your chambers . . . ?"

"Oh, I . . ." And she looked at me even as she addressed Shank. "I think this . . . server should be able to attend to me."

"Server!" barked Shank, and I immediately moved to just in front of him. He focused those dead eyes upon me, and suddenly it was all I could do not to shake violently. I felt as if he was capable of picking apart my brain, plumbing it for its secrets, just with a look. Reflexively I looked down, telling myself that it was a normal thing for a server to do rather than an obvious attempt to cover my fear. Shank paused a moment and an eternal afterlife of my rib cage transformed into a musical instrument flickered through my imagination. He was staring at the staff on which I was leaning. "I have a server who is lame of leg?" he demanded.

"I am but temporary help, milord," I said humbly.

"I had people on my staff who thought they were permanent, who discovered that they likewise were temporary," he guffawed, prompting similar amused grunts from his a.s.sociates. I said nothing, merely tried to look humble. Then he continued, "My fiancee has a brief . . . personal need to which she must needs attend. You seem harmless enough. Perhaps she feels pity on you. Attend to her."

I bobbed my head, still not looking up. "As you command," I said, and turned to her.

She spun on her heel and headed for the large double door. I kept close behind her and a moment later the heavy doors swung shut behind us. We were in a huge hallway that seemed to go on forever, and here it was quite cold indeed. Cold as the grave.

She whirled to face me, her eyes wide. "Pallid" indeed. Her wan face floating in the dimness of the poorly lit hall, she looked positively spectral. "What are you doing here?!" she demanded.

"Joining the party," I said mildly. "I heard there was a masquerade: Come as you aren't. I'll have to admit, though, that the ident.i.ty I've a.s.sumed can't begin to compare to yours."

"You can't be here . . ."

Apparently the reality of my presence had not yet fully registered upon her. I had the advantage and I was going to do everything I could to press it. Telling her that my stumbling upon her was merest happenstance might give her some degree of comfort. So instead I said to her, in a voice that was deep with threat, "Of course I'm here. I'm everywhere you are."

Her hand fluttered to her throat. "Wh-what?"

Laughing coa.r.s.ely, I said, "Do you believe yourself to have been un.o.bserved all this time? That I did not have eyes everywhere? My dear 'Countess' . . . you may have temporarily managed to fool Shank, but my a.s.sociates and I are quite a different matter."

She almost seemed to have forgotten where she was, and then her vision cleared. "What do you mean?" she managed to say.

"You made a very serious blunder, Astel. You a.s.sumed that because I was out of your sight, you were out of my mind. But you have never strayed far from my thoughts . . . or my mind. You trusted the wrong people."

"That b.i.t.c.h!" breathed Astel. "I knew knew there was something about her! She was one of yours, wasn't she!" there was something about her! She was one of yours, wasn't she!"

I smiled enigmatically. Naturally I hadn't the faintest idea what she was talking about or who the "b.i.t.c.h" she was referring to was, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was driving a stake of pure paranoia through her wretched little heart.

"Or was it . . ." She suddenly looked more suspicious. " . . . or was it . . . somebody else? How far does your influence go? Tell me that, at least. The way you showed up here, now . . . it's almost . . . supernatural . . ."

Ahhh . . . apparently our little Astel carried a bit of the superst.i.tious within her. My smiled widened as I said softly, "Let us just say that in addition to mortal allies, I have friends in . . . high places." My gaze flickered heavenward and then I added, "I a.s.sume you've heard of . . . Hecate."

I thought her legs were going to give out. Thank you, Entipy.

"So you know everything then," she whispered. "That I used the money I took from you . . ."

"And that you stole from my mother's mattress. Her earnings, too." It was a guess, but it seemed a reasonable one.

She nodded, unknowingly confirming that which I had only intuited. "I made a few investments, and used it to acquire finery, trappings . . . all the outward appearances of a great lady. That I created the ident.i.ty of the countess because I knew no n.o.bleman would have interest in a commoner. And came here to Shank's court, seeking a n.o.ble husband, and caught the fancy of the warlord himself . . . aided initially by purchased charms. Told him I had vast estate holdings in the west . . ."

"And that you're planning to tell him that there's been an unexpected fire and everything is burned down, lost . . . but since you'll be married by that point, obviously he won't throw you out because of it." That last, naturally, was pure guess on my part, but I figured it was worth the gamble in order to cement, in her mind, the belief that I knew everything that she was about.

It worked perfectly, because her eyes widened and she nodded, unwittingly affirming what had only been surmise on my part. "And you could have stepped in at any time," she said with mounting incredulity. "But you let me put the whole charade together . . . create the countess ident.i.ty for myself . . . let me get right to the cusp of pulling this off . . . and now, now, now, is when you step in. Ohhhh, I'll admit it, Apropos," and she shook her head in wonderment, "you have a spider's patience. You are fiendish beyond imagining." is when you step in. Ohhhh, I'll admit it, Apropos," and she shook her head in wonderment, "you have a spider's patience. You are fiendish beyond imagining."

"I have my moments," I allowed.

Her eyes narrowed, something glittering in there as if she was trying to determine how to s.n.a.t.c.h triumph from tragedy. "But you've left yourself vulnerable. It's just you and I. Why . . . I could suddenly shout for help right now and summon half a dozen guards. Tell my beloved fiance that you tried to molest me." She smiled, showing her teeth, which looked far whiter than I'd remembered them. "He'd lop off your head himself, right in the middle of the court. And you would tell him . . . what? That I'm a fake? Who do you think he'd believe? You? Or me?"

But my thoughts were already ahead of hers. "He would believe you," and before she started to speak, I continued, "right up until I tell him about the tattoo of a b.u.t.terfly you have on your inner thigh."

She blanched at that, but then tried to rally. "I . . . can tear at my skirt right now. Obviously you saw it when you . . . tried to ravish me . . ."

"Really?" I said coolly. "Odd. Most women, when they're ravished, don't make noises like a hoot owl when achieving pa.s.sionate climax. Nor are they noted for crying out, 'Ride me, stallion! Ride me, you stallion you!' The warlord has already made clear in his bl.u.s.tering way that he had his pleasure with you, so he'd be familiar with your habits. Did you do with him what you did with me? Will I be sealing my fate, or will I be lending credence to my version of things? It is possible that he will indeed have me executed for my publicly making a fool of him . . . but if he does, my dear, I strongly suspect that your head will be rolling right on the floor alongside mine."

She swayed slightly, and for a moment I thought she was going to pa.s.s out dead away. She leaned against the wall to steady herself, took several deep breaths, and unconsciously put a hand to her throat as if she could feel a blade slicing viciously through it. I knew I had her then. She fixed a level gaze on me and said the four words I had been waiting to hear: "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" I said thoughtfully.

"You obviously want something something. You didn't go to all this endeavor so that we could chat about old times and then you depart empty-handed. What do you want?"

"Very well," and my voice hardened. There was such barely controlled rage in it that I almost surprised myself. "I want my naivete back. I want back the ability to lose myself totally in a woman's pa.s.sion without always wondering if and when she's about to slip a knife between my ribs. I want to be able to think that when a woman opens her legs to me she's also opening her heart, instead of just finding a way to use me until it suits her fancy to take advantage of me or betray me. I want to have a last memory of my mother as something other than a large pile of ashes covering my face and being washed away by the rain, along with the last fragments of my ability to trust. I want to be able to think back to my first s.e.xual experience without the words 'What an idiot I was' resounding in my head. Can you do that for me, Astel? Can you give me that?"

She looked down. She couldn't stand to look me in the eyes. "No," she said, so softly I could barely hear her.

"Then riches will have to do instead," I told her.

"I'll get together whatever money I can . . ."

"Some coinage will be fine for the local area, but that won't be enough," I said flatly. "Sovs and dukes in this realm have the warlord's face on them. They'll be useless to me anywhere outside of the Outer Lawless regions, and I do not plan on overstaying my welcome."

"Well, it's too late for that," she snapped . . . but not, I noticed, too aggressively.

"Gold," I said flatly. "And silver. And jewels. As much as I can carry out of here without being noticed."

"And how often will you be making such visits to me, eh?" she asked. "How often will you be making return engagements, seeking more from me?"

"Believe it or not, Astel, if I never see you again, it will be too soon," I told her. "The very sight of you stirs such fury in my heart that I can barely contain myself. I'd sooner muck out stables with my tongue than have further intercourse-social or s.e.xual-with you."

She looked skeptical, as if she couldn't quite believe she was getting off that easily. "All this time you've been watching me, scheming . . . and this one confrontation is enough to sate you?"

"I am interested in dealing purely with your monetary theivery, Astel. With evening the scales on that score. Everything else you took from me cannot be replaced, ever, so I won't even try. And more than anything else, I want you to know that, all this time-even now-I could have brought you down, so that it will help to diminish whatever sense of accomplishment you may have. You'll always know that you got as far as you did . . . because I allowed it. That's sufficient vengeance for me, Astel, and I'm interested purely in revenge . . . not overkill. Now . . . let us see how fares your generosity."

"Generosity under threat of exposure is hardly genuine."

"Nor is lovemaking under the pretext of thievery. But if I can survive the experience, I daresay you can, too."

Her jaw twitched, but she said nothing. Instead she turned and started walking. I followed directly behind her, my staff clicking on the ground.

"I have thought of you, from time to time, you know," she said softly. "Believe it or not, Apropos . . . I was not evil. Just desperate."

"How kind of you to clarify that." I was not impressed.

"I mean to say . . . I never meant you any ill. And . . . it didn't happen as you believe."

"Indeed."

"When you and I . . . when we . . . that was sincere. Spontaneous. I had no plans beyond that. It was only when I saw all the money there, and I . . . I gave in to a weak impulse. I am a weak woman, Apropos."

"I see. You're not evil. Just desperate and weak . . . much like the story you're spinning for me now. A desperate and weak one."

"But true nonetheless."