Reign of Madness (Revised Edition) (49 page)

Once they entered the paddock within the walls, Rezkin
dismounted and a gangly young man of about fifteen approached, cautiously
eyeing the massive mount. The young man bowed and bobbed his head as he said,
“May I take your horse, my lord?”

Rezkin looked at the young man dubiously, but before he
could say anything, a man of about thirty came loping up with a slight limp as
he hollered, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Jeriah. I’ve got this one.” The man bowed to
the lord and said, “My lord, I am Stable Master Grey. I am capable of handling
your battle charger.”

The guards’ eyes widened and darted back to the horse.
“Wait, that is an
actual
battle charger?” the one who had rolled his
eyes exclaimed.

“Well met, Master Grey,” Rezkin directed at the stable master.
“I am Rezkin,” he said as he handed the reins over to the man. As the stable
master led the horse away, he turned to the guard who had been observing him on
the ride and asked, “What is your name, guardsman?”

The older man cleared his throat and said, “Mrikson, my
lord.”

“Are you a mage, Guardsman Mrikson?” Rezkin asked curiously.

“Ah, yes, my lord. I have the talent. I am an aquian
elemental, but my ratio is off, so I cannot do much with it,” the guardsman
replied. Cautiously he said, “I have not used any power since we met. Did you
sense me?”

Rezkin waved a hand and said, “No, no, I do not possess the
talent. I was only curious because you seem to be a bit more observant than
your comrades.” The other soldiers gave each other questioning glances, having
no idea to what the nobleman was referring. Mrikson eyed Rezkin curiously and
then nodded acceptance.

At that moment, a young page, no older than ten, approached
and performed a perfectly practiced bow. “My lord, please allow me to escort
you to the manor,” the young one intoned in a small, high voice that belied the
seriousness of his position.

Perhaps this one is actually a small-man
, Rezkin
thought to himself. Logically, he knew the difference. Children were weaker and
smaller than adults and needed to be nurtured and coddled. They had games that
were designed for enjoyment, rather than strategy simulation, and required
leniency so that they could develop into a healthy physical and mental state.
At least, that was essentially what he had gathered from Frisha when she was
arguing against child labor at ages younger than twelve. Rezkin knew from his
own experience, though, that small-men looked much like
children
, but
they were simply men who were ignorant, unskilled, and physically immature. The
way a small-man grew was to learn the
Rules
and master the
Skills
.
Only then could he truly be considered a big-man. Still, Rezkin could not tell
the difference between a small-man and a
child
except in the way it was
treated or how it acted. He had yet to find any true small-men in the outworld.

The page led Rezkin into the manor house and through a
series of corridors, up a flight of stairs, and down additional corridors. The
warrior did not truly need the page’s guidance, except to know where Tieran was
located, since he had been required to memorize the layouts of the estates of
the highest-ranking nobles in addition to the major city buildings. It was the
page’s job to make sure Rezkin did not wander where he did not belong and to
report back to his master about anything unusual concerning their visitor. It
certainly would have been considered unusual if Rezkin, having never been there
before, somehow knew the entire layout of the mansion.

As they walked into a brightly lit sitting room, Tieran
jumped to his feet and excitedly rushed toward him. Rezkin’s first instinct was
to fend off the attacker, but he recognized no other signs that Tieran held ill
intent. The young lord grasped Rezkin’s hand and pulled him into an embrace in
an unusual show of camaraderie as he said, “Rezkin, my dear friend! It is good
to see you. I am so glad you could make it for our sparring session.” Tieran’s
smile and joyful demeanor appeared genuine, but his eyes held a pleading
tension. Rezkin did a quick assessment of the three other people in the room
and then smiled happily in return.

“Of course, Tieran. I would not miss it. When you win the
rapier division tournament, I will have the honor of bragging that I had been
your sparring partner before the feat,” Rezkin replied with saccharine
flattery.

Tieran barked a laugh and left one arm hanging over Rezkin’s
shoulders as he led the warrior further into the room. His casual bearing gave
the appearance of an age-old friendship unhindered by politics or pretense.
“Oh, come now, Rez. Everyone knows that having already developed mastery over
your own blades, you deigned to come off your pedestal to train your
struggling, but ridiculously dashing, childhood friend, Tieran.” The warrior
lifted a brow, and for a moment, Tieran thought Rezkin would refute the blatant
misrepresentation. The fact that Tieran had revealed his sword mastery led
Rezkin to believe the situation more dangerous than it appeared.

“You?
Dashing
?” Rezkin scoffed. “There is more
dashing
in my little finger than in your entire bearing, Tieran,” Rezkin replied,
needlessly straightening his doublet. The two young ladies lounging on the
settee giggled behind fluttering fans.

Tieran gave Rezkin a dramatically calculating look.
Satisfied the warrior would go along with the ploy, he said, “Yes, well, it
would be cruel to hold others to your high standard, since it is inhuman and
unachievable.”

“Are you calling me a
god
?” Rezkin asked with a
devilish grin.

The nobleman scoffed. “Not likely – more like demon,”
he muttered. The ladies giggled again.

“Will you not introduce us, Tieran?” the younger of the two
asked with feigned bashfulness.

“Yes,” the young man sitting across from them interjected as
he stood. “We should all like to meet this infamous guest of yours.”

“Infamous?” Rezkin inquired, looking at Tieran
questioningly. “Just what
have
you been telling them about me?”

“Oh, nothing as interesting as all that,” Tieran said
cryptically. “I
might
have mentioned a few incidences of bandits and a
corrupt magistrate or something of the sort.”

“There is
more
?” asked the elder of the two ladies.
She appeared to be about Rezkin’s age and wore her auburn hair in a loose bun
with only a few stray curls framing her face. She wore in a voluminous white
dress with blue trim and held herself with perfect poise. “We simply
must
hear the rest of it.”

Tieran waved a hand and said, “Ah, childhood antics mostly,
and we simply must
not
speak of that business with the king.”

“The king? What business is that?” the young lady asked,
thoroughly intrigued.

“Nothing of import,” Rezkin replied as he bowed to the
duke’s daughter. “Allow me to introduce myself, since Tieran has forgotten his
manners. I am Rezkin, my lady, and it is pleasure to meet you.” He placed a
soft kiss upon her hand and said, “You must be Lady Safrina. You have blossomed
into a lovely flower.”

Safrina blushed and was suddenly at a loss for words. Rezkin
repeated the performance with the younger sister, Lady Geila, who was about
sixteen and had perfectly curled chocolate locks tied with pink bows that
matched her gown. The young warrior straightened and turned to the unknown man
who stood several inches shorter than he. The man had thick, brown hair cropped
shorter than was the style amongst the nobles but was certainly longer than
that of many of the soldiers Rezkin had met. He had a crooked nose and broad
jaw, and his eyes held constant menace. The man was about twenty-four, closer
to Tieran’s age, and he appeared to be quite irritated.

Tieran finally stepped forward and said, “This is Lord Hespion,
the youngest son of Duke Atressian.”

“Ah, yes, it is good to see you, Lord Hespion,” Rezkin
remarked as he greeted the man.

“I apologize. Have we met before? I do not recall your
House…” Hespion replied as he let the statement hang.

 “Oh, not that you would recall, I am sure.” Rezkin
replied. In fact, they had never met, but Hespion did not need to know that. “I
do hope your brother’s business in Justain concluded to his satisfaction,”
Rezkin remarked offhandedly to divert the attention away from the subject of
his House.

Hespion’s eyes widened, and he said, “You met with Fierdon
in Justain?”

Rezkin waved a hand in the air and said, “No, no, no. I was
far too busy for that nonsense. I trust he could take care of things himself.”

In truth, Rezkin had no idea what Fierdon had been doing in
Justain. He could only guess at what deals had been made by the names that were
listed on the travel logs he had painstakingly pored over when looking for
Farson. He might have taken more time to investigate the matter had he known he
would now be embroiled in kingdomwide conspiracies and whatever trouble Tieran
had gotten into at the duke’s mansion.

Hespion looked at Rezkin suspiciously as he said, “Yes, I
believe some progress was made.”

The warrior suddenly felt the tingle of magic directed
toward him, and he double-checked his focus shields. Contrary to popular
belief, it
was
possible for a mundane to shield himself from intrusive
magic simply by concentrating on keeping the power from reaching him. It was a
technique that had been drilled into Rezkin from a young age. The masters and
strikers who had the
talent
would bombard him with random mage attacks,
most of which were highly unpleasant if they got through his focus shields.
Rezkin simply smiled politely as he met Hespion’s astonished eyes. Whatever
Hespion had attempted had fallen flat, and he knew that Rezkin was not only
aware of the attempt but was the reason for its failure.

Tieran, having sensed the power, scowled at Hespion. It was
considered beyond rude for a guest to use power on another guest without
permission, and it was obvious from his attempt at subtly that it was not of a
friendly nature. Gripping Rezkin’s elbow, Tieran said, “Come, Rezkin. I think
it is time we get to our practice.”

As the two turned to leave, Rezkin kept Hespion in his
peripheral view. He noted the girls’ wide-eyed glances between him and Duke
Atressian’s youngest son. They, too, had felt the exchange. In their society,
Rezkin had sufficient cause to call Hespion out for the attempt. Any nobleman
would have been within his rights to challenge Hespion to a duel, even to the
death. Since Tieran had already announced Rezkin’s sword mastery, it was not
difficult to guess who would win. Hespion was registered in only the Second
Tier of the tournament, which meant he would be competing against Malcius and
Brandt.

As they walked down the corridor, Tieran blurted, “How did
you know? And, how did you block it?”

Rezkin raised a hand to silence Tieran as he led the way to
the practice courtyard. Tieran’s eyes widened when he, too, felt the tingling
of magic around them. “He just does not learn!” the young nobleman shouted.
“You should call him out!”

Rezkin raised a brow and replied, “The guest of a duke’s
heir kills a second duke’s son in a third duke’s manor. That does not bode
well, whether it was justified or not.”

Tieran swallowed and said, “You would not have to
kill
him.”

“His knowledge of my
Skills
serves as warning enough.
If I draw these swords on him, he is dead,” Rezkin replied. The tingling
sensation cut off abruptly.

Tieran glanced back the way they had come in surprise.
“Where are we going?” he asked.

“To the training grounds, of course,” Rezkin replied.

“But, how do you know where…” Tieran shook his head. “Never
mind. I have something important to discuss with you,” he said in a low voice.

“I figured, but the pretense is that I am here to spar, so
we must spar,” Rezkin replied.

The nobleman nodded and continued walking. The two entered
the courtyard, which was located in an opening in the center of the mansion.
The floor was packed dirt, and the ceiling was absent so the courtyard was open
to the sky. It was outlined by a low stone wall that separated it from a first
floor walkway, and a second floor balcony ran around its perimeter. Beneath the
walkway, to one side, stood a weapons cabinet. Aside from a few small creeping
vines growing up the columns, the yard was otherwise empty. Rezkin and Tieran
approached the cabinet as a broad but stout man poked his head around a corner.

“I suppose I shall practice with my own blade today, since I
will be competing in the morning,” Tieran remarked. The young nobleman pointed
to a rapier with a silver wire wrapped grip and said, “That is the one with
which I usually practice against the dummies so as not to dull my blade. It is
decently balanced.”

The warrior examined the weapon carefully as he reached for
it and noticed something odd. Just as he was about to grasp the sword, the
small, heavy man came bounding up to him. “Oh, my lord, please let me find you
a different weapon. This one is um…bent. Yes, it, ah, was bent in practice
earlier, and I forgot to take it to the swordsmith.

Swiftly plucking the tiny needle from the grip, Rezkin
grasped the hilt and hefted the narrow rapier. The stout man noticeably winced
and wiped his sweating brow. His balding pate, beady eyes and long nose,
combined with his stature, gave Rezkin the impression that he was looking at a
human-sized mole. The warrior held the rapier before him, eyed down its length
and said, “Nonsense. This is a fine practice sword, and it is straight as an
arrow.”

“Ah, I see, yes. I must have been thinking of a different
sword. Ah, sorry, my lord. I’ll take my leave,” said the grungy, little man
before he scurried down the corridor.