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From: nostrumo@nienor.s.bawue.de (Nostrumo)
Subject: TG: "Milady's Wiles"   by Brandy Dewinter  (21/22)
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Hi.

  This is the latest story of Brandy DeWinter. A story about war and
the casualties of war.

  As always: I DIDN'T write this story and haven't any claim to it. If
you have some useful hints or some good comments, your mail is welcome.
Flames, you know, will be piped to /dev/null.

  If you are an author and wish to remain anonymous or just try to
avoid the replies to your work. I offer you the chance of posting your
stories and collecting the response for you. This offer only stands
for story postings and for nothing else.

Enjoy the story.

Ciao
	Nostrumo

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> cut here with a sharp knife <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<
Milady's Wiles
by Brandy Dewinter


Chapter 21 - Man Bites Snake

     The day of which Queen Giselle had spoken was well nigh indeed.  It 
seemed I had barely removed my dress from the night of their arrival 
when I was once again dressing for the assembly called by Kragdle.  I'm 
not sure exactly why it seemed appropriate, but I felt compelled to wear 
once again the rich, blue gown that had defined my first appearance as 
Cherysse.  

     Mother smiled in approval as we made our way to the throne room.  
The summons from Kragdle was for mid-morning, but it suited her purposes 
for us to be there first and remind him that at least in name we were the 
hostesses and he was a guest.  Queen Selay took her high seat and I took 
my normal position at her side.  

     We were somewhat surprised to see the women of Kragdle's entourage 
already in place.  He had paid them no attention at all on his arrival, 
neither seeing to their well-being nor giving instructions for them.  
Yet Queen Giselle and several unfamiliar women were arrayed along one 
side of the throne room, attended by servants but no armed men.

     The next to arrive were Lyonidas and Elgion.  I could see the ten-
sion in Lyonidas' face and the set of his shoulders.  Elgion was trying 
to lighten the mood with some typical witticism, but for once he was not 
succeeding very well.  His comments were interrupted in mid-jest by a 
squeal from among the High Canyon women.

     "Elgion!  My love, why didn't you write?"

     The speaker, or screamer, was a dusky, slender woman with curly 
ringlets cascading around her face.  I had thought Queen Giselle's hair 
was black, but the sheen in the curls of this woman made the Queen's hair 
seem dull.  Perhaps, though, that impression was enhanced by the shining 
earrings flashing among the dark curls. 

     When she moved out of the crowd toward Elgion it was clear that she 
was a dancer or other artist for surely the human body, even a woman's 
body, could not flow so sinuously without long training.  And it was easy 
to see her body.  The clothes she wore were obviously intended to 
highlight, not conceal her form.  In most places the material was so 
sheer that it made no pretense of modesty, and the few places where 
vision could not penetrate were called into even sharper focus by that 
very obscurity.  

     My attention had been so captured by the voice and motion of this 
dusky woman that I had missed the tension that had appeared in Julia.

     "Love?" she asked, almost to herself but loud enough to carry at 
least to Elgion.

     He stepped forward to intercept the foreign woman saying, "Dierdre, 
I didn't know you'd be with the Queen's party."

     She flashed brilliant teeth in a wide smile and said, "I thought I'd 
surprise you, dear one.  You know I like surprises."

     "Dear one?" now Julia's voice rose into a volume that carried more 
clearly.

     The smiling girl caught her words and the sharpness of her tone.  
Her eyes widened, then tightened as she noticed that Julia wore earrings 
of her own.  Dierdre snuggled her arm under Elgion's and asked, "Who is 
this henna-haired parrot?"

     "Henna-haired?!!"  Residents of the castle started looking for cover 
from the storm behind Julia's words.

     "And a parrot," the woman snickered.

     Before Julia could respond, Elgion tried to turn the conversation 
toward formality by introductions.  He turned to Mother and said, "Queen 
Selay, allow me to present Dierdre, who has come to King Kragdle's court 
from far off Katmanistan."

     Then he turned to me, still taking refuge in formality, "Your 
Highness, Dierdre of Katmanistan."

     The storm brewing in Julia's eyes was not diminishing with the 
delay.  If it had been me, I would have been looking for the nearest 
exit but Elgion moved on with apparent nonchalance, "And this is the 
Lady Julia.  Julia, Dierdre."

     The dark-haired Dierdre swayed up the steps to the dais with a 
grace as fluid as any Lyonidas ever demonstrated, yet without that 
economy of motion.  Instead of a deceptively-smooth flow, the various 
parts of Dierdre's body all moved at once, and all in mutually harmonious 
ways that seemed unencumbered by skeletal limitations.  She managed to 
turn her back to Julia even as she dipped into a deep, graceful curtsy to 
the Queen.  

     Only then she turned insolently to Julia and me, no offer of honor 
in her haughty grin.

     Julia met her gaze with equal strength, but her words were to 
Elgion, "Milord Count, would you care to explain this?"

     "Explain what?" he replied.  Give him credit for courage, I wouldn't 
have pretended innocence with Julia when she was in that mood.  

     Julia didn't answer his question, though the arch of her brow fore-
told many responses yet to come.  She spoke to Dierdre instead, "I see 
you wear earrings of promise."

     "Yes," Dierdre replied.  "I received them from Elgion."

     "As did I," Julia said quietly, the calm before the lightning 
struck.

     Then Julia looked again at Elgion, "Milord Count, I had your 
promise that no other woman would wear your rings."

     "Well, actually," he stammered, "I only said no other Achaiean 
maiden would . . ."

     Dierdre now interrupted him, a bit of anger building in her tone as 
well, "So, if I am not around, you lay claim to any woman who happens to 
be convenient?"

     The storm started to break as Julia's voice rose, "I am hardly a 
convenience!"

     "Stiff as you are," Dierdre sneered, "I can understand why a man 
would not find you convenient."

     Julia's response was back to Elgion, "Tell me, Milord Count, does 
this harlot spread for your horse?"

     Dierdre's voice prevented Elgion from replying as it rose even fur-
ther, "I am a Princess in the House of the Great Khan, not a harlot!"

     "We are not in the house of the Great Khan, harlot!" Julia shouted.

     Elgion tried to intercede, "Ladies, please!"

     They both slapped him in such perfect unison that there would only 
have been one sound, if the sound could have been heard.  However, it was 
drowned out by the thunderclap of the main doors to the throne room 
hitting their stops as Kragdle made his entrance.  His face showed 
nothing as he moved forward but the strange emotions flowing through 
the room were not quite what he might have expected from his arrogant 
arrival, so obviously intended to remind us of his first visit to the 
throne room.  It was clear to him that there had been some sort of ten-
sion in the room rather than meek acceptance of his demand to attend.

     A dozen warriors flowed behind him in the amorphous style of the 
High Canyon horde, so familiar in memory yet still incongruous in our 
hall.  He marched directly to the King's throne and sat casually upon it 
with barely a glance toward Queen Selay.  When he spoke, his first words 
were to Lyonidas

     "It is good to see that peace and harmony have resulted from your 
tenure as regent," that whispering dry voice sneered.

     Lyonidas was embarrassed and was readying himself to explain, when 
Kragdle forestalled him by continuing, "In truth, peace seems sadly 
lacking, considering the price that was paid and the promises that were 
made."

     His eyes had moved from Lyonidas to Queen Selay as he spoke and it 
was clear his comment was really to her.  When he spoke again, he spoke 
directly to the Queen.

     "Madame," and his omission of her title was clearly meant as an 
insult, "do you remember the terms of treaty that spared you?"

     She ignored his question, her silence as strong as on the first time 
they had met.  Kragdle had not intended for her to answer anyway, as he 
rolled on in his flat, toneless voice, "It says that you will not take up 
arms against High Canyon, nor any of our people in Achaiea.  Do you 
remember that?"

     It might be imagined that she nodded stiffly, but imagination 
would have to be a part of the impression for the movement was too 
small for certainty.

     Kragdle waited long enough for some tension to build, then said, 
"Yet Olrin lies dead.  Strane lies dead.  How do you justify this?"

     "I do not need to justify it," she replied.

     It was not apparent that she intended further comment, but it was 
not necessary since Lyonidas spoke up, "Father, I judged those cases 
myself."

     Now Kragdle's glittering black eyes shifted back to Lyonidas, 
"Indeed, as you judged other cases."

     "Yes."

     "As you judged the case of General Reynal."

     "Yes," Lyonidas replied, head high and no apology in his bearing.

     "Which led to the loss of another High Canyon nobleman," Kragdle 
accused.

     "Reynal escaped his just sentence," Lyonidas declared.  "His loss 
was his own fault."

     "Not if he were innocent," Kragdle countered.

     "He was not," affirmed Lyonidas.

     Now that thin, humorless smile appeared on Kragdle's face as he 
replied, "Perhaps not.  Reynal was many things, but innocent was probably 
not one of them."

     Then he raised his voice and waved his hand as he said, "Even now!"

     From a side door, Reynal emerged, limping toward the dais.  A hard, 
thumping sound could be heard with each step of his right leg.  He 
walked, slowly but deliberately, directly to Lyonidas and said, "Sur-
prised to see me?"

     Lyonidas nodded calmly, "Yes, we thought you had perished in the 
winter storms."

     Reynal snarled, his voice as twisted by hate as his curling lips, 
"It would have been better for you if I had.  By the time I reached High 
Canyon, my foot was consumed with the Black Stench.  I walk on wood now, 
thanks to you."

     Lyonidas showed no remorse as his own voice hardened, "Thanks to 
your own foolishness.  Your sentence was banishment to the very place 
toward which you ran.  You are stupid as well as perverse."

     Kragdle interrupted them with a harsh command, "Enough!  I don't 
care who was to blame for what.  That is important to justice only.  And 
while justice is sometimes convenient, I insist on order."  

     "Order?" Lyonidas asked with surprise.  "With the exception of 
some transgressions by High Canyon noblemen, we have had order and 
peace."

     "High Canyon noblemen define order and we can do without peace if 
necessary," Kragdle declared.  "Again I say, I don't care about your 
notions of justice.  Two noblemen of High Canyon have died and another is 
crippled.  I will have compensation for that loss."

     The sneering threat in his voice seemed to draw all the air from the 
room.  All breathing stopped for a long moment as we absorbed the sense 
of his comment.  It was Lyonidas who asked the question that affected us 
all.

    "What compensation?"

     Now the grin on Kragdle's face took on a truly evil cast.  I rea-
lized it was because for the first time, emotion showed in his eyes and 
not just on his mouth.  His gaze swept the room, enjoying his power, en-
joying our fear.  When he spoke his tones almost showed emotion, noticea-
ble more by contrast from before than from real content, but still 
apparent.

     "Why, I think it would be appropriate for some Achaiean noble to 
match their sacrifice."

     Hugh of Sandars stepped forward immediately.  He had probably been 
expecting this demand, though I admit I had not.  His motion stirred the 
remaining men of Achaiea to step forward as well.  I might have thought 
it was an attack, their motion was so cohesive, but there was no aggres-
sion in it, only submission.  Kragdle drank in this submission like a 
heady drug.  For him with his ambition it might have served that purpose, 
but his plans had been made long before he entered the throne room.

     "Hardly suitable.  A clerk and a few has-been dirt-grubbers?  I 
think not.  No, I think someone in the flower of youth, say . . . ," and 
here he paused, letting his gaze sweep once again through the room, 
before coming to rest on me.  "The Princess would be fair compensation."

     The air in the throne room again thinned as each person gasped.  Or 
perhaps it was only my own breath that seemed inadequate. No one spoke 
for a long moment. Even after that moment, the break in the stillness was 
motion, not words.  Lyonidas moved to stand directly between Kragdle 
and me.

     Then he spoke, quietly but firmly, "No."

     Kragdle barely spared him a glance, "My decision is made."

     "As is mine," Lyonidas replied with equal resolve.

     Kragdle now looked sharply at him.  They stared at each other in a 
battle of wills that seemed one-sided, yet unproductive.  Kragdle's black 
chips tried to force Lyonidas to acquiesce, yet there was no counter-
vailing pressure from Lyonidas.  Instead, it was as though the energy 
from Kragdle's gaze slid past Lyonidas, leaving him untouched without 
effect, but without resistance.  

     I don't know how long that confrontation might have lasted for it 
was interrupted by a motion from Reynal.  

     At his gesture the High Canyon warriors accompanying Kragdle began 
to swirl toward the dais.  Without specific command, the castle guards 
moved forward to meet them.  I was gratified to see those guards who had 
originally come from High Canyon standing shoulder to shoulder with those 
born in Achaiea rather than joining their tan-garbed fellows.  The sum of 
castle guards was more than enough to counter the tan swirl and it halted 
at the steps toward the thrones.  

     In later years I would come to understand what it meant to be a 
High Canyon sword-brother.  If we had known at the time, we could have 
spared Julia the onerous duty (dear God I hoped she didn't enjoy it!) of 
suffering the attentions of Elgion.  For our efforts to sway him to our 
cause were wasted, his loyalty was never in question.  It was dedicated 
to Lyonidas from long before he arrived in Achaiea.  He too, took his 
place in the line backing Lyonidas and protecting me.  

     When the movement of armed men had come to a tense, momentary 
equilibrium, Lyonidas let a tight grin form on his face, "Father, it 
appears you should have brought more men."

     "So," Kragdle growled, "you would hide behind your guards?"

     Lyonidas sighed, sagging for just a moment before lifting his chin 
with firm resolve, "No, Father, I know the codes.  Will you not recon-
cile?"

     His words had a formality that said we were witnessing a ritual far 
more significant than my own life or death.  Well, perhaps not more sig-
nificant for me, but certainly for High Canyon and therefore Achaiea.  

     Kragdle answered in a way that deviated from the formality though it 
answered the question clearly enough, "Get a weapon, Bastard."

     Lyonidas started at this label and quickly looked at his mother.  
Her own countenance was stricken with a guilty flavor that confirmed 
Kragdle's epithet.  Then, for some reason Lyonidas looked at me.  With 
time I might have fabricated a surprised expression of my own, but the 
horror of my threatened doom kept me from thinking beyond myself.  When I 
realized that Lyonidas was looking at me, it was too late and he saw 
confirmed in my lack of surprise the knowledge that I had known already 
of his parentage, or at least Kragdle's irrelevance to it.  

     "So, it seems that you have revealed an open secret," Lyonidas 
mused, as though it had no importance.  Then his voice hardened, "Fath . 
. . Lord Kragdle, you should not have revealed that to me, though.  Not 
at this time, not under these circumstances.  That was a mistake you will 
not live long to regret."

     Kragdle did not respond to this warning, merely walking down from 
the dais and removing his overcloak.  Under it he wore the tan shirt and 
loose trousers I had once considered so inadequate as armor until 
Lyonidas had shown the greater protection available from speed and 
dexterity.  

     In his arrogance, Kragdle wore no weapon under his cloak and accep-
ted Reynal's when it was offered to him.  Lyonidas had come to the throne 
room unarmed as well, but Elgion was quick to offer his own sword to his 
tall friend.  Or actually, give it back as his words revealed.

     "I trust this old sword will still be familiar to you."

     "It is for this reason that we exchanged them, sword-brother," 
Lyonidas replied.  

     Then Lyonidas did something that surprised me, though its import 
was quickly clear.  He took his sword and stabbed himself in his own 
left hand, not deeply, but enough to puncture the skin.  Next he slid 
the invisible sharpness of the edge along his left forearm, again, not 
deeply, but enough to leave a trail of blood.  His eyebrow lifted at his 
opponent in silent question when he finished.  Kragdle snorted, then 
did the same to himself.

     Perhaps the import was not that clear after all, as Julia whispered 
frantically in my ear, "Why did they do that?"

     "To prove the blades were not poisoned, of course, now be quiet," 
I hissed back at her, quite rudely I'm afraid.  She didn't seem to 
notice, though.  

       Lyonidas saluted Kragdle with the formal little flourish he had 
used with Drayson, then flowed down the steps with that weightless glide 
I still didn't quite understand.  Once again he hardly seemed to move, 
yet he was quickly standing before Kragdle.

     "You don't need to do this," Lyonidas once again offered peace.

      Kragdle's response was to begin a shifting, swaying drift that 
seemed rather pointless until I realized I had been watching his off 
hand, looking at the still-dripping blood rather than his sword.  His 
motions had drawn my eye away from the true threat with a strange compul-
sion that resonated within me with a distant echo of the white-cold mind.

     As a result of this distraction I didn't even see his first strike.  
The tip of his sword licked out with a flicker that seemed more an illu-
sion of light than something possible for real steel.  Yet in the after-
image that lingered behind my eyes, I realized he had thrust forward 
directly for the heart of my Lyonidas.  

     Yet, just as with that coiled-spring attack that Drayson had once 
used to such terrible effect, the targeted part of Lyonidas was not there 
when the strike arrived.  His riposte was faster than thought but his 
only reward was a ringing clang as his blade caught the guard covering 
Kragdle's hand.

     "I see you have kept up on your practice," Kragdle commented, 
twirling his off-hand fingers in another attempt to distract Lyonidas.  

     My prince was silent, but a small smile began to appear on his lips.
A hard smile to be sure, one without real humor, but still a smile that 
showed neither fear nor even worry.  Kragdle noted it and for the second 
time I saw real emotion play across his tight features.  Now though, the 
emotion was anger.  He abandoned his swirling sway for a series of 
direct, brutal attacks, still lightning swift, still ineffective.  Lyoni-
das was somehow never in the same place as Kragdle's blade, though I had 
no clue how he managed to avoid it.

     Then my heart clutched so hard I thought I would die and make the 
fight moot.  For I saw another small spot of blood begin to spread from 
Lyonidas' side.  At least one of Kragdle's furious attacks had struck 
home.

     You couldn't tell it from his face, though, nor Kragdle's for that 
matter.  The fleshless face of our conqueror tightened again into impas-
sivity, his anger assuaged with blood, at least for the moment.  Once 
again his body and his free arm began a swirling sway reminiscent of the 
snake that he had always seemed to be.  

     Lyonidas was unmoved by this distraction.  Literally unmoved for the 
most part, waiting with infinite patience for yet another attack.  As 
Kragdle drifted from side to side, Lyonidas flowed to face him, never 
seeming to have his weight entirely on either foot, moving silently like 
the drifting fog his countryman so resembled in war.

     Kragdle tried another taunt, "Do you defend that blonde witch be-
cause she has cast a spell over your feeble mind?"

     That taunt was entirely too close to the truth.  There had been 
several times when I had seen seams in the tapestry of Lyonidas' mind and 
could have insinuated compulsions that would still have effect.  Yet I 
had never done so.  I knew that Queen Selay had added a white-cold 
reinforcement to Lyonidas' decision not to attend court sessions, but I 
had never tried to reach his mind myself.  

     However, the only response Kragdle received from Lyonidas was yet 
another small smile.  If I had seen only that smile, I would have been 
much happier for it looked supremely confident.  Yet I could still see 
the spreading blot of red on his shirt, now almost the size of my palm.  

     Kragdle struck like a snake once more but this time it was the snake 
that was bitten as a faster-than-vision riposte from Lyonidas drew a 
line along Kragdle's sword arm to match the self-inflicted one on the 
other side.  That seemed to be a trigger for Lyonidas to go on the offen-
sive.  He thrust again and again, always with that deceptive speed that 
seemed unhurried yet completed his stroke before I even knew he was 
moving.  Not every attack reached its target, but small spots of red 
began to appear on the tan Kragdle wore as some portion of the flurry 
of motion was successful.  

     It appeared that Kragdle was better on the attack than the defense, 
for he never managed a riposte that was even close to successful.  He 
soon realized this and the flow of the duel shifted once again to strikes 
by Kragdle and counters by Lyonidas.  Yet, even this was of no avail for 
for the conqueror.  Lyonidas now had the rhythm of the older man's at-
tacks and managed to draw new lines of red on Kragdle's arm with nearly 
every engagement.

     The older man began to show fear at the calm confidence he saw in 
his opponent.   His swaying swirl began to describe larger circles as 
though trying to escape the arena that contained their fight.  At times 
he would withdraw just too far for an immediate attack and glance around 
at the people in the chamber, though what he was looking for I could not 
say.

     Until he caught Reynal's eyes.  I saw the direction of Kragdle's 
gaze and then a quick flicker of those black eyes.  Lyonidas was turned 
away from Reynal and my first concern was that Reynal would strike from 
behind, but though Reynal drew a blade, his motion was away from Lyonidas.

     His motion was toward me.  As though we were all trapped in some 
thick, clear fluid, time seemed to slow while Reynal turned toward me.  
His arm moved with speed I knew was blindingly fast, yet seemed languid.  
>From the tips of his fingers a dagger flew directly toward my heart.  A 
part of my mind was screaming at me to move out of the way of the so-
leisurely attack, yet this strange sense of time's flow seemed to hold my 
own body in its grip even more than Reynal's arm.  That instant's impulse 
to move died before it was born.  With my wide skirts and my waist stif-
fened as always by the corset I wore, I knew I could never avoid the 
stroke.  It seemed . . . inelegant somehow to run from this cowardly 
attack and before I had more than started to move I had converted my 
motion to a proud lifting of my bosom toward my attacker, offering him a 
clear shot at the target he so desperately desired.  The flashing knife 
struck just below my falsely feminine bounty.

     And bounced.  

     From the woven steel of my hidden tormentor, now my savior. 

     Reynal grabbed a sword from one of the High Canyon escorts and 
lunged at me, sword extending in a line pointed at my head.  He might 
have succeeded before the last winter, but his wooden leg would not 
provide the power his attack required and two of my guardsmen, both of 
High Canyon in an ironic coincidence, intercepted his approach with their 
own blades.  He managed to turn his thrust into a parry of one counter 
but the other lunged home to bring one more death in a battle that had 
not ended on the day that King Andros died.  

     Nonetheless, the distraction worked to Kragdle's favor.  Lyonidas 
could sense that Reynal was moving toward me and had withdrawn to the 
side to see what he could do without dropping his guard against Kragdle.  
Perhaps Kragdle had hoped the diversion would so unnerve Lyonidas that he 
might succeed where true skill had failed, but Lyonidas was too wary of 
the tan snake for that.  However, the withdrawal my prince had made 
provided another opportunity for Kragdle.  

     He quickly turned and ran toward Queen Giselle.  She had been stan-
ding quietly by the side, watching the duel between her husband and her 
son as though she were unaffected.  That disinterest was rudely inter-
rupted when Kragdle grabbed her from her companions and used her as a 
shield between himself and Lyonidas, his sword poised to draw a new mouth 
below her chin.  

     "Drop your weapon, or your mother dies," Kragdle growled.

     "Father," Lyonidas drawled, his tone dripping scorn at the once-
proud claim, "I may not be your son in blood, but I am the one you 
trained from birth to rule in High Canyon.  What was your own first 
rule, always, when one you love is held hostage?"

     Kragdle didn't answer but I saw in his eyes the knowledge that it 
had certainly not been to give in to the demands of the abductor.  

     Lyonidas drifted closer in that velvet fog manner of his and an-
swered his own question, "You told me that the only acceptable answer is 
to kill the hostage yourself.  'To save others from the same fate,' you 
said.  Do you remember?"

     By now Lyonidas was close enough that he could thrust into Giselle's 
heart at any time he chose.  Here he paused, as though something new had 
occurred to him.  "But I'm not really your son, am I?  I don't have to 
accept your ways as mine.  So I don't think I'll kill my own mother.  
Instead, I think I'll kill you!"

      With that he lunged, but his stroke was well wide of the mark, 
clearly it had never been intended to strike home.  Yet though Lyonidas 
had obviously missed, Kragdle staggered, then began to slump against the 
back of his unloved and unloving wife.  

     She stepped out of his suddenly-strengthless grasp to move behind 
Lyonidas.  It was then I saw the blood on her hand, blood from an obvious 
source, the pulsing wound in Kragdle's chest where Tamor's dagger sprou-
ted like a shiny weed.  

     The thin, fleshless face of our erstwhile conqueror looked up at his 
wife in surprise, then horror at the image of triumph to be found on her 
grim visage.  He tried to turn around to find succor in another face, but 
all those around drew back from his as though afraid the evil that had 
inhabited him might escape to find another home.  

     It was not to be.  He hunched forward around the dagger in his heart 
and collapsed to the floor, ending his brief empire bereft of power, 
prestige, or posterity.   


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