TST (41 page)

“His name is Ghost. He’s my friend,” Wolf said, introducing his four-legged companion.

The human and the wolf, the one that was really a wolf, stared at each other for a moment through the fire. Azerick grabbed his saddlebags and carried them back to where he was sitting, pulled out the haunch of smoked venison that he had bought in the last small hamlet he passed through, and offered it to Ghost. The wolf stepped lightly over, and after giving the meat a good sniff, gently took it from Azerick’s grasp with its long black muzzle.

Ghost lay back down next to Wolf, held the haunch down with his forelegs, and tore long strips of meat off the bone with his powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Azerick watched Ghost eagerly gnaw the meat off the bone then motioned Wolf to hand him his now empty bowl. The sorcerer refilled the boy’s bowl once more and decided it was now proper to ask more questions.

“How old are you, Wolf?”

The half-elf shrugged his bony shoulders. “Twelve I think.”

“How long have you been on your own, you are on your own aren’t you?”

Wolf shook his head as he chewed and swallowed a chunk of ham. “This is my second spring living in the forest, but I’m not alone I have Ghost.”

The huge wolf raised his head and looked questioningly at his half-elven companion then went back to gnawing on his now cleanly stripped leg bone.

Azerick wondered what could have happened that a boy of only nine or ten years old would be left to fend for himself in the middle of a forest. “Are you orphaned? Where is your family?”

“My family did not want me. No one wants a half breed around,” Wolf replied, trying to cover the bitterness in his voice and almost succeeded.

“Do you mean the elves? Did the elves make you leave because of your parentage?” Azerick asked in amazement.

Wolf shrugged his shoulders again. “They tolerated me after my mother died and took care of me but there is a big difference between being tolerated and being loved,” the half-elf answered wisely for someone of his age. “I left on my own after I got in a fight with some boys who tolerated me even less than the rest of the snobby elves did.”

“What happened?”

“We fought, they lost, and I got in trouble. The same thing that had happened many times before but this last time I decided that it would
be
the last time. Ghost and I whipped them really good. We both left them with scars that will remind them not to pick on us even though we were both smaller at the time,” Wolf said and patted Ghost between his large, black, wedge-shaped ears.

“I think I know a little about what you went through,” Azerick told Wolf and proceeded to summarize his life in Southport.

Wolf looked back to where Horse snuffled nervously at Ghost’s scent. “So what is you horse’s name?”

“I don’t really have a name for him. I just call him Horse,” Azerick answered.

“You’re not very imaginative for a wizard are you?”

“I am a sorcerer not a wizard,” Azerick corrected.

Wolf shrugged his bony shoulders. “Sorcerer, wizard, same thing, either way it is a terrible name for a horse.”

“I suppose you could do better on the spur of the moment,” Azerick challenged, glad to let someone else pick a name.

“Sure I could. See that white diamond on his forehead? You could have named him Starfire. If you don’t like that there’s thunder, because of the sound his hooves make when he runs, or Zephyr because he runs like a wild wind, or Goblinstomper, Big Red, Willowisp, Lightning, Dasher…”

“All right I get it. I’ll think about a different name.”

“If you want, I sort of like Horse though.”

Azerick shook his head at the boy’s precociousness and felt a laugh wanting to burst from his gut for the first time in quite a while. The boy and the young man exchanged stories for several hours. Wolf told Azerick how during hard times he had filched eggs and even a chicken or two from the small towns and outlying farms but did not trust any of the humans enough to ask for help or shelter. He did not need their help anyway, he insisted.

Azerick told the half-elf about how his parents had died and he was alone for a few years on the streets of Southport. Wolf pulled his leathers off the sticks he had used to hang them near the fire, stretched the shrunken leather back out, beat them against a tree to soften them, and put them back on before falling asleep. Azerick left him the blanket to sleep on and spread out his own bedroll.

Azerick woke just as the sun cleared the horizon enough to shine a reddish glow through his closed eyelids. The sorcerer sat up and immediately saw that Wolf and Ghost had already gone, taking the blanket and a small sack of food with them. He had almost hoped that the young half-elf would have stuck around, having felt something of a kindred spirit in the boy. Azerick did not allow himself to dwell on it. The boy seemed at home in the woods and if chose to make his home here then so be it. He wished the boy and his wolf well, mounted Horse, and resumed his westward journey.

*****

Lady Miranda suffered through dance after dance with Duke Ulric, using all of her will and training in court etiquette to maintain the polite smile that was required of her when socializing with the powerful leader of Southport even though she despised the man. She recalled meeting him when she was younger, back when her father was still alive and she and her parents had attended a social event hosted by the duke of Southport. She met him once a few years after that at another function and now having met the man on a more social level her dislike quickly turned to disgust.

Duke Ulric complained and openly criticized King Jarvin but always made sure to stay just inside the line of outright ridicule. Miranda had met the king several years ago during his coronation when her father and the other dukes and barons swore their oath of fealty to their new monarch and found him to be a decent and honest man. He did not wrap himself in deceit and hide behind false faces like most of the nobles she knew. She had just finished telling Duke Ulric her opinion as the two of them stood alone in the duke’s study.

“Really, Miranda, how can you support a man as your king who is not only the product of a bastard’s union but lived as a peasant himself until taking the throne?”

Miranda fought to maintain her composure as she answered the duke’s question. “Your Grace, King Jarvin’s mother may not have been married to his father, and no, she was not a noble but she came from a decent family that did quite well for herself and he loved her dearly. Although King Harlan could not bring his son to live as the heir to his throne for propriety’s sake, he still ensured that Jarvin received the best education he could provide.”

Ulric gave Miranda one of his condescending smiles. “Miranda, no amount of education can compensate for a proper bloodline, especial if one is to be king. Otherwise we would have every scholar in the kingdom making a claim for the throne.”

“King Jarvin has every bit of his father’s blood running through his veins, just as much as he would if King Harlan’s wife been capable of producing his heir.”

“Ah, but you see,” Ulric said meaningfully, pointing at Miranda with his wine glass, “Jarvin would also have the blood of house Bagguette in him as well but now Harlan’s blood has been diluted, tainted if I dare say so, with that of his commoner mistress’s!”

Miranda breathed in deeply then let it out slowly. “Your Grace, it is late and these talks of politics do make me quite weary. With your leave I shall retire for the evening.”

“Of course, Lady Miranda, please forgive me for not noticing the strain I have put on you. Politics is one of those things best suited to men. I look forward to the morning when we can perhaps speak of more delicate things better suited to a lady,” Ulric replied chauvinistically.

Miranda forced a polite smile. “I am so sorry, Your Grace. I am afraid I must depart for home in the morning and it is best if I leave early. I left many matters at home in order to endure—enjoy—your hospitality, but I really must not neglect them any longer.”

Duke Ulric knew a brush off when he heard one. The fact was that he could tell quite early on that the Duchess of North Haven’s daughter was even less open to a partnership than the Duchess had been. It was shame; such a union would have considerably bolstered his power base.

He smiled his most gracious smile, pretending to accept her departure at face value and raised his hand to bid her a goodnight.

“It has been my utmost joy to have been gifted with your visit. I hope that you sleep soundly and have a smooth journey home.”

Miranda ignored the proffered hand, curtsied, and fled the duke’s presence for the relative safety of the room she shared with her handmaiden, Sarah.

Back in the study, Duke Ulric sat in his plush, high-backed chair and sipped the remnants of his glass of wine. An oaken panel opened near the fireplace as his chamberlain, Alton, stepped into the room by way of the secret passageway hidden behind it.

“Your courting did not go as well as you planned, Your Grace?” Alton asked even though the answer was clear on the duke’s face.

“No, she is far too much like her father. If only that frigid mother of hers had been more receptive after her husband died. It was nearly a waste of my time to have had the oaf killed. At least it got rid of one more fool that supported the embarrassment that sits the throne,” Ulric answered acidly.

“What are we to do with her, Your Grace?”

Ulric drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair as he pondered the very question he had asked himself several minutes ago. He would like to have North Haven as an ally when he makes his bid for the throne. He knew that Duke William of Brightridge openly supported Jarvin and that provided the bastard king with a very powerful ally. William’s was the only city that rivaled his own in both wealth and soldiers.

“I think that North Haven would be far more cordial to me if I were to rescue their precious Lady from the bandits that are holding her for ransom,” Ulric said slyly.

“I see, Your Grace. I will make the appropriate contacts at once,” Alton promised.

“Alton.”

“Yes, Your Grace?” the chamberlain replied and turned back to face the duke.

“Ensure that you make it abundantly clear that Miranda is not to be harmed or sullied in any way until I say so.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

*****

Azerick was surprised when he and Horse stepped off the narrow dirt path that passed as the road traveling west along the northern range and onto the broad, cobbled northerly trade road. Once again, Azerick was very pleased with his decision to purchase Horse. Together they had covered a distance in one week that would have taken him at least three or four on foot. He gently guided Horse to the north to travel the last leg of their journey to North Haven.

It was mid afternoon when Azerick guided Horse off the road and onto the earthen shoulder when the clatter of multiple, steel-shod hooves came thundering up from behind him. The first thing he saw was a handful of armored men riding mounts. He brought Horse to a halt well out of the way of the mounted men at arms that escorted a carriage that he could now see barreling down the highway towards him.

*****

Lady Miranda stewed in anger as she and her handmaiden rode in the swaying, bumping carriage in which she had urged her driver to put as much distance between them and Southport as possible.

“The man is a swine and a traitor!” Miranda fumed once more.

“Yes, milady, you told me that. You have told me that every day for the past three days,” Sarah reminded her Lady.

“That is because it is still true. Gods, I will have to burn that dress I wore to the ball. I will never be able to wear it again without feeling his lecherous hands on it. It is a shame; it was a lovely dress and cost enough to feed a common family for a year.”