Dragons and Destiny (23 page)

“Captain Hallam
explained that sir,” said Elliot.

“Now,”
continued Duncin, his hands busy hulling the redfruit of its
stones, “a Ryzck is led by a Ryzcka and contains four Vadryz of
eight vadeln each and the two other members are Holad and
comms.”

“How many
Ryzcks are there?”

“Its no secret,
there are fifty one. Course, that’s not all the Vada, there is the
Holad, the trainers, the cadets, those like Stasya and me who run
the Supply Stations, even the Express is attached though they don’t
come under the Susa’s direct command. There are also any number on
separated leave at any one time, sick leave, maternity leave. Ah …”
Duncin’s eyes gazed into space as he went silent, he blinked and
grinned.

“Stasya says
they will be here in a quarter-bell. You,” he pointed at Elliot,
“go stir the stew, make sure it isn’t sticking to the pot. James
will set the table, seven humans. Place these three large blue
bowls at the far end for the Lind. Smaller ones this end nearest
the stove. Knives forks and spoons. I’ll get the bread.”

“What about the
fruit?” asked Elliot from the stove where he was stirring the stew
with little skill but much vigour, “do I stir the fruit too?”

“Absolutely
not,” Duncin commanded, “it’ll be setting nicely and its best
lukewarm and half set with the cream.”

He put his hand
over his mouth. “The cream. I’ve forgotten the cream!” He sped away
to the cool room.

The four
visitors looked at each other and burst into laughter. Duncin had
looked so vuz-struck when he had realised he had forgotten this
most important ingredient.

“I
like
that man,” said James through his laughter and as he fished through
the drawer for the spoons.

“Me too,”
agreed Elliot as he bent his energies to the stew.

* * * * *

They left the
Supply Station mid-morning after many promises to return. Their
saddlebags bulged with food, new baked bread rolls split in the
middle and filled with meat, pastries and fruit.

Both Robain and
Philip had protested at such largesse. Philip had offered to pay
but Duncin had shaken his head.

“These boys,”
he winked at them solemnly and both Elliot and James winked back,
“they’ll be starving of the hunger as soon as they’re out of sight.
Robain, don’t leave it so long until you come by again.”

“I won’t,”
Robain promised looking down at Duncin from his horse’s back, “duty
permitting.”

“That’s a
given,” answered Duncin and he turned to Philip. “Baron Ross, it’s
been a pleasure to meet you and your two rascals and if you are
passing again don’t ride past. Stasya and I would be delighted to
see you.”

“Indeed,” said
Stasya, her eyes on Elliot. “It was most interesting, what you told
me of the south and I would like to ask more.”

“I will look
forward to it,” Elliot said, “and I’ll remember you always, the
first Lind I ever met and talked to.”

: And I will
remember you … Prince Elliot of Murdoch :

Elliot’s eyes
bulged open and he stared straight at Stasya. She however was
turning away, following her Duncin back into the station.

By evening
Elliot had come to the conclusion that he must have imagined the
words. The alternative was too unbelievable to contemplate.

* * * * *

Chapter
6

AL607 - Fifth
Month of Summer (Rakrhed)

Isobel

In the dower
room at Castle Cocteau to the south of the Kingdom of Murdoch a
young girl sat dreaming. She and the others in the room were
supposed to be sewing but it has to be admitted that chatter was
more the order of the day than fine needlework. The Chatelaine, the
Duchess of Cocteau, Anne, Isobel’s aunt, was absent due to an
emergency in the kitchens and the young ladies had been most
appreciative of the Head Cook’s disaster.

The four young
women were chatting hard.

To Isobel’s’
right sat her cousin Anne. She was twelve years older than the
fifteen year old Isobel. Anne was the Daughter-Heir of the Duchy of
Cocteau and married. She was not long recovered from another
miscarriage and looked pale and wan. She already had three
children, the oldest, Pierre, was seven, Mark was two and Anne
five. The three were playing a game of carpet skittles in the
corner.

To Isobel’s
left was Jennifer, late of the Duchy of South Baker and married to
another cousin, Margrave Mark Cocteau. She was in the first stages
of her first pregnancy.

Between
Jennifer and Anne sat Katia, Isobel’s sister-in-law, two months the
bride of Isobel’s brother James. She was bemoaning his absence.
Katia wouldn’t have dared express her displeasure if the Duchess
had been present. Duchess Anne had a sharp tongue. She was sister
of the King and very aware of her superior birth. As a Baron’s
daughter, Katia sang small when her elders and betters were
present, as did Isobel herself, youngest daughter of a younger son,
but this was changing. Amazingly, she, Isobel, was the betrothed of
the Prince-Heir. In the future she would outrank Duchess Anne. The
King had chosen her as his grandson’s bride.

Fate is a
strange thing,
the future Queen of Murdoch thought as she
picked up her needle and began to apply herself to the intricate
embroidery that would decorate the facings on the bodice of her
nuptial gown.

Most Murdochian
brides wore yellow at their wedding but for those of royal birth
and those noble girls marrying into the royal family, purple was
the traditional colour, velvet in winter, silk in summer.

Of course, here
in Murdoch, the summer and winter seasons were not as defined as in
the northern continent. The equator ran through the town of Mahler,
some hundred miles north of Fort. Fort was the seat of government
and the location of the most important of the royal palaces.

As Isobel’s
wedding was scheduled for the first month of summer in the year
AL608, she was working on a purple silk bodice of superfine
quality.

She sighed,
although an accomplished needlewoman, like most girls of her class
and status, embroidery was not one of her favourite occupations,
especially the finicky work on the beaded pattern that Duchess Anne
had ordained.

“At least,”
said Katia, as she paused to thread her needle, “you’ll be free of
all this when you’re wedded.”

“Mmm,” said
Isobel, only half listening.

Katia
continued, “have you thought about what ladies you might like to
attend you?”

“Ladies-in-waiting?” said Isobel, coming out of her reverie.

“You’re not
eligible Katia,” returned Anne. “Royal attendants must be
unmarried
.”

“Piffle,” Katia
retorted, “there have been married ones before.”

“Name one,”
challenged Anne.

Katia blushed
but stood her ground as she bent her thoughts to the question.
Unlike the other three, she had not had the advantages of being
brought up in circles close to Court but she was a good listener
and had an excellent memory.

“Well,” she
began, “Queen Mary came from the Eastern Isles.”

“We know that,”
snapped Anne.

“And she
married our King in AL567?”

“What of
it?”

“She brought
with her some ladies. She was only seventeen and her sister was one
of them, that one who married the old Duke of Smith. You can’t say
she wasn’t married.”

“Lady Petra was
four years younger than the Queen and she wasn’t married or even
betrothed when she arrived at Court,” countered Anne with a
satisfaction bordering on glee. She did so like to be right. “Try
again.”

“Her cousin
Olga then, she’s about the same age.”

“Countess Olga
who married Count Peter van Buren?” interposed Isobel.

“Yes. She was
lady-in-waiting and remained with the Queen for some years.”

“That’s true,”
said Isobel, “she only resigned when she had her first child.”

“But my point
is that she wasn’t married when she was appointed,” said Anne in
triumph.

“She was
betrothed,” said Isobel in a happy voice. “There is precedent,
and,” she added, “Katia had forgotten one. One who
was
married. Jill van Buren. She was one of the Queen’s original ladies
and was married at the time.”

Anne flushed
with annoyance.

“Well you just
try it,” she contented herself with saying, “and if it is
permitted, which I’m sure it won’t be, Isobel can choose me. I’d
like to be back at Court and I’ve the rank.” What Anne wasn’t
saying but Isobel understood was that Anne felt she had more right
to be at Court than Isobel herself. She was niece of the King. As
Daughter-Heir to the Duchy she had few rights of her own. It was
her husband and not she who was the future reigning Duke of
Cocteau, despite her birth. Although her mother was a Princess of
the Murdoch Bloodline and Duchess both, her daughter had no such
claim; royal offspring who married into ducal houses kept their
royal prerogatives only for their lifetime and it was not passed
down to their children. It was an old law designed to remove the
possibility of civil war.

Isobel ignored
Anne’s plea.

“So have you
any ideas?” queried Jennifer, Anne having descended into sullen
silence.

“I’d like you,”
answered Isobel with a smile. “Father said that I’d get some say
about who was chosen and I’d like Cousin Tamsin as well, impossible
I know as she’s pregnant again.”

Isobel
harboured a warm affection for her cousin Tamsin who was married to
Kellen Charles Dubois and who, since her marriage lived in the far
away Duchy of Duchesne.

“You’ll have to
take what you get,” insisted Anne, “whether you like it or not and
there’ll be one from every ducal house in the kingdom, you’ll
see.”

“Oh I hope not
Anne,” exclaimed Isobel, “that would be just too much.”

The next day
word came from the Duke that Isobel’s future ladies
had
been
selected and the news that they would be arriving at the manor the
month prior to her wedding. Anne had been correct. Isobel shrugged
her shoulders and accepted the Conclave’s decision with only a
small show of disappointment that thankfully the Duke of Cocteau
did not notice when he told her. Jennifer and Katia would be able
to visit her at the palace.

The lady
appointed as senior Lady-in-Waiting was not so very old either, one
Kellessa Anne Fullarton who had attended Isobel at her betrothal.
She was only twenty-three and at present one of the junior ladies
of her future mother-in-law. The others were two young daughters of
the Duke of the Eastern Isles and two cousins from the Barony of
Taviston, Alison and Mary. It could have been a lot worse.

Anne was the
only one who felt she had a grievance as despite her hopes, she was
not on the list and as she learnt later, had never even been
considered. She went off in a flounce of petticoats to gnash her
teeth in private.

* * * * *

Elliot and
Zilla

“We’re staying
at the
Little Rover
tonight,” announced Philip with an
understanding smile in Robain’s direction as they stopped to water
the horses.

“Isn’t that
where?” queried Elliot.

“Yes and no
snide remark from either of you. Let Robain deal with the situation
as he feels is best.”

“It’ll be
interesting to see if Hilla’s sister is anything like her,” said
James.

There wasn’t
time for any teasing because Robain returned from the stream. He
had changed his clothes and had had a quick wash.

Wants to
make a good impression with his future in-laws
.

Robain looked
nervous. He began fiddling with his saddlebags.

“Is it far to
the Inn?” asked Elliot in an attempt to fill the awkward
silence.

“We’ll be there
before dark,” answered Philip, “so long as we don’t dawdle along
the way and none of the horses throw a shoe. I’m a tad worried
about your mount, he seems to be favouring his off-fore. The tendon
felt a trifle hot when I felt it.”

“I didn’t
notice,” admitted a guilty Elliot. It had been well drummed into
him by both Robain and Philip that his mount was his
responsibility.

“He’s not
exactly the friendly type is he?” asked Philip, ignoring Elliot’s
red face. “He pretty nigh took a lump out of my backside when I
bent down. What do you call him, Biter Incarnate?”

“Nibbles,”
replied an embarrassed Elliot.

“Nibbles?
Nibbles?
You called him
Nibbles
?”

“One of the
nursery cats was called Nibbles,” said Elliot. “He was always
scratching and biting at people. I thought it appropriate. We’ve
got used to each other, he’s not tried to bite me for days. Sorry
Philip, I should have warned you.”

“No matter, but
I think you’d better ride the spare until we get to the Inn.”

“He can ride
Jackass if he wants,” offered James.

“Thanks but no
thanks,” said Elliot, “he’s even more bad-tempered than mine.”

It took a while
to transfer the saddle. It fitted well enough.

James good
naturedly volunteered to lead the pack-mares, it was Elliot’s day
for it but he knew the spare mount. The animal had a wicked look in
his eye and didn’t seem too happy at the prospect of having a rider
on his back. In fact, Elliot had a great deal of difficulty keeping
him still enough so that he could tighten the girth.

Spare was
indeed fresh and nippy.

“What’s that
mountain called?” Elliot asked Robain, pointing to the tall pointed
peak and the two smaller ones inland.

“The tall one
is called Pointy Peak, not very original I’ll admit, I don’t know
what the rounded one to the right is called but the bobbly one is
called Dune Mountain, Dunetown, where we’re headed is called after
it or maybe it’s the other way round.”