“So you thought to make him take care of a child that isn’t his.”

  “You don’t understand,” she wailed softly, tears in her eyes. “You were born nobles. You are rich. You have servants to do your every bidding. Fine clothes… Can’t you understand? I wanted something better than marry some town bumpkin.”

  “Isn’t your father the best saddler of Lorseth?” Ryhunzo asked softly. “I hear our prince buys his saddles from him, and if he does, all his friends do too. Your family should be making a fortune. Or at least good money”

  “We’re not poor. Not as poor as some. But I wanted more. What’s so wrong with that?”

  “Nothing, unless you have to break someone’s heart to get it.” Ryhunzo smiled. “Or do something worse.”

  Iselda’s shoulders slumped and she started crying softly.

  “Poor Eynurm, he really loves me. Loved, I should say, for now he probably hates me. I made a terrible mistake when we broke up—”

  “When you dumped him,” Rahendo corrected her.

  “His father had disinherited him,” Iselda cried out. “Without his title, without his inheritance, with no place to call his own he was just an ordinary guy. Kind, good looking, but—”

  “Dirt poor?” Rahendo asked.

  “Yes. So what if it seems shallow and selfish? A girl has to look out for herself for nobody else will. I know what happens to women who marry handsome but poor men for love. It ends in headaches, constant bickering over money, a lot of children, and grime. They grow old before their time from misery. I didn’t want that. I don’t want that. I want to have children, but I don’t want to have to worry how I will feed or clothe them. Is that so wrong? I want my children to have a good life.”

  “And you want to have a good, easy life yourself.” Rahendo spoke matter-of-factly.

  “I never said I wanted an easy life. I will pull my weight. I will do my duty. I will support my husband.”

  “A young noble would be perfect, and marrying him would make you a lady, of course. Tarnwood is quite a distance from here. Nobody would have known you there. Nobody would have known about your humble origins. A pity it all went pear-shaped.” Rahendo looked at the open sky above them. “Eynurm told us you dumped him for this very rich merchant’s son. Lucky you.”

  “Oh, Gildo…” Iselda said. “He was the first to dump me.”

  The first? Rahendo thought.

  “After he got what he wanted?” he asked.

  “That’s heartless, My Lord.” She sobbed and sniffed her nose.

  “The truth often is, Mistress.”

  “I know. I know all too well.”

  “Was it his child you were trying to fob off on our friend Eynurm?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. I met this young Dermolhean merchant. Far richer than the other one. Than Gildo, I mean. He had money and a golden ring. His clothes were new and of good quality. You could have mistaken him for one of you, young nobles. His firm wanted to branch out, he said, and they had send him to gather information. To scout the lay of the land, as it were. He was very friendly and we talked a lot. Somehow, along the way I told him how unlucky I had been trying to find love. He wasn’t much to look at, but—”

  “He was rich,” Rahendo said, dry as dust.

  Iselda gave him a look that veered between angry and sad.

  “That,” she conceded, “and he was a good listener. He said his name was Cormack and he asked me to accompany him to his lodgings for a drink and some more talking. He brought me to this place, called the Shield and Arrow, some four miles from the village on the main road to Dermolhea. I’d never been there but I’d heard of it. They say it’s comfortable and the stables are well kept. It was an obvious choice for a traveling merchant from a big city. I should have known better, of course. The landlord is called Cairman and they say he is deaf and blind. Not because he is, but because he never tells on his guests. He never sees anything or hears anything of what goes on in his establishment. We went up to Cormack’s room. There was just one little bag from which he got a flask and two beakers. It finally dawned on me that he wasn’t just a friendly young man who wanted to listen to the troubles of a town girl.” She paused and took a deep breath. “Go on, laugh. Laugh at how naive I was. How stupid…”

  “We’re not laughing.” Ryhunzo smiled. “We understand. We all want love.”

  “It made me as deaf and blind as Cairman. Or, more to the point, it made me hear and see what I wanted to hear and see. He poured us both a beaker of wine and we drank and talked some more. The wine was headier than I thought. Or maybe it just had been a long time since I had eaten.”

  “Or maybe it was spiked. Yours, anyway,” Rahendo said.

  Iselda looked at him with surprise in her eyes.

  “I already suspected something like that. I hadn’t drunk all that much and yet I felt as if I was losing control far too quickly… And…”

  “And one thing led to another. Then he raped you,” Rahendo summarized the situation.

  Iselda looked down. She was crying again.

  “I don’t know… Maybe I wanted it… Out of frustration, drunkenness… I can’t remember anymore how we…”

  “Landed in his bed, naked?” Rahendo asked.

  Iselda nodded.

  “That was over a month ago. I felt sick a few weeks after… after we met. And my…” She hesitated.

  “Your breasts felt tender. You often felt tired, sluggish. You had headaches.” Rahendo gave her a meaningful look. “Now, a month later you are certain that you are with child, certain like only a woman can be.”

  “How does a young lord like you know all these womanly things? At so tender an age?”

  “I have five sisters, mistress. None of them have ever been pregnant, but they seem to have studied the subject extensively, and they like to talk about it. Endlessly, I might add. Well, all but one. Londo is more into hunting and fighting than needlework and making babies. Anyhow, I couldn’t help picking up a few things here and there.”

  “Hey, you, what are you two, of all people, doing with such a handsome girl?” Loduvant of Brynmark shouted in a loud voice dripping with derision.

  He and Morneck of Miradano had just walked into the castle courtyard.

  “Don’t you have your hands full with each other?“ Loduvant added. He let out a bellowing laugh.

  “Never you mind, you horrible swine,” Ryhunzo shouted back.

  “Big words for such a puny weakling.”

  “Shut up, you peasant, and go away.” Ryhunzo laid his right hand loosely on the pommel of his dagger.

  “Don’t,” Rahendo said in a low voice so that only Ryhunzo could hear him. “You know the rules. No fighting of any kind amongst pages.”

  Morneck of Miradano looked in the direction of the stables, away from the two young pages and the girl as if he was all too well aware of the rules and wanted to avoid becoming involved in a brawl that could result in him being sent away from the prince’s court. Loduvant, on the other hand, looked belligerent and also put his hand on his dagger.

  Rahendo turned to Loduvant.

  “Let me remind you we are head pages. Even just pushing us will get you punished. You know the rules. Those who instigate a fight will be dismissed from the corps of pages and sent home immediately in dishonor and disgrace.”

  “Ah yes,” Ryhunzo added, loud enough for Brynmark and Miradano to hear him. “Wasn’t that rule put in place after Lorcko of Iramid was ambushed by three cowards. Remind me, who were they again? Oh, and I seem to recall that one of those lowlifes lost his pants and breeches during the effort?” He smirked at Loduvant. “Now, let me think, who was that again? Maybe we should ask Lorcko. He surely remembers.” He looked at something or someone behind Brynmark and smiled. “What do you know… Hi, Lorcko…”

  Loduvant of Brynmark turned around in a panic, but there was nobody there.

  “Damn you, Uberon,” he raged at Ryhunzo. “Be very careful where you go and never venture anywhere alone, for by all the Gods and Goddesses, rules or no rules, if I find you alone outside the castle grounds that will be your last day. The same goes for your little fuck-buddy.”

  Ryhunzo walked toward Loduvant with great steps.

  “Pookie, no,” Rahendo whimpered.

  Ryhunzo came so close to Loduvant that their noses almost touched. He tilted his head and smiled.

  “Loduvant, you disgusting, stinking piece of excrement, listen to me and listen good. I may be younger than you. I may be not as strong as you. But if ever you threaten my friend again, I will put you down like the miserable mangy dog that you are. I will gut you like I gutted that Mukthar at the Zinchara.” He took a deep breath. “Rules or no rules.”

  Without another word he turned around and walked back.

  Still with his back to the others, Morneck mumbled something to Loduvant, who shrugged and turned around. Without another word or glance they walked toward the stables.

  In deep thought, Iselda looked after them.

  “Something on your mind, Iselda?” Rahendo looked at her with concern.

  “What? No…” For the first time Iselda smiled. “You two were at the Zinchara where His Highness defeated the Mukthar army?” she asked.

  “Yes, we were, but we were supposed to stay behind the lines. Long story, but that wasn’t exactly how it went down. We got mixed up in the fighting and a giant Mukthar threatened to massacre me. My Pookie killed him. With his sword.”

  “Pookie?” Iselda’s face showed both surprise and admiration.

  “It’s my war name.” Ryhunzo grinned. The curls on his forehead were moist with sweat. “It’s true I killed a Mukthar, but he sort of ran on my sword of his own accord. Stupid man.”

  “Look how beautiful the sky is,” Rahendo said. “It’s almost the end of October and the weather is still mild.”

  “Yes, it is a nice day, My Lord,” Iselda said. “I’m sorry I ruined it for you. And for Eynurm.”

  She gave the two pages a shy smile. All her troubles seemed to have dissolved in the balmy air.

  “Will your parents take care of you?” Ryhunzo asked.

  “I think so. My… predicament isn’t all that uncommon. I think my mother would love to have a baby around.” She looked at the sky. “I will get through this,” Iselda said with a new-found resolve. “I’m sure it will all work out for the best.” She turned to the two pages. “Please, tell Eynurm I’m sorry. About trying to make him marry me. About letting him go in the first place. About everything, really.”

  They walked toward the gates of the castle. They parted company on the drawbridge.

  “I do hope life will treat you more kindly from here on, Mistress Iselda.” Ryhunzo beamed.

  Iselda felt strangely comforted by the gracious, curly-headed young noble.

  “Rest assured, His Highness wants to forget this little incident as soon as possible,” Rahendo added. “Eynurm is too sweet a guy to be vindictive. Just leave him alone from now on.”

  “I will. It was a stupid thing to do and he didn’t deserve this. Certainly not from me. He has been nothing but kind to me.” It seemed she would start to cry all over, but she got herself together.

  “Tell him,” she said as she turned toward the road, “that he will never see me again for as long as I live.”

  As it turned out, she kept her word to the letter—as far as that went.

  Chapter 3

  The Dagger

  It was the morning of the day after Iselda had officially made her accusation and then privately retracted it again.

  Anaxantis had summoned everyone with some kind of responsibility for the almost hundred and fifty pages that nobles from all over the kingdom had sent to his court. He didn’t need that many pages, but, for several reasons, he accepted every noble fledgling they sent him. Their fathers were mostly fence-sitters who hedged their bets in the difficult relations between the high king of the realm and his son, the victorious warlord, who acted as a ruler in his own right, only stopping short of declaring himself and his province independent from the kingdom. In a lot of cases they sent a second or a third son and not the heir, a fact that didn’t escape Anaxantis.

  A lot of the boys—and there were a lot of them—were almost illiterate, so besides a vigorous training program, which most of them liked, the prince also had them given lessons in reading, writing and basic arithmetic, which almost all of them hated. Particularly the last subject.

  All these youngster needed roofs above their heads and beds to sleep in. From early on they were lodged in the same kind of barracks that had served the soldiers of the Army of the North. All this took a fair amount of organizing and administration. Strife and outright fights broke out on a regular basis and needed to be arbitrated, stopped, and, in some cases, punished. Add to that logistic problems like food and minor necessities for over a hundred entitled young men, and having a lot of pages turned out not so much to be a help as a major pain in the princely backside.

  Anaxantis loved to share his pain, which was exactly why he had called together this little meeting.

  Obyann of Ramaldah, Arranulf of Landemere and Eynurm of Tarnwood, were the three masters of pages. They were assisted by four head pages. Rahendo of Eldorn and Ryhunzo of Uberon had the younger ones in their care, and particularly saw to it that the new arrivals were put at ease. Most of them were for the very first time away from their ancestral castle for a prolonged period. Echron of Syrdunn and Robrant of Emling, who themselves were squires of Prince Ehandar, were responsible for the older ones, a duty which regularly involved breaking up fights.

  Anaxantis was about to explain the changes he wanted made to the internal rules and the roster, when Sterff of Rivrant, still on guard duty, knocked, and entered the war room after reluctantly having been given permission to do so by a prince-warlord on the edge of his nerves.

  “I specifically asked not to be disturbed, Sterff,” Anaxantis said, annoyed. “This better be good.”

  “It’s bad, actually, My Lord.” The page tried to sound solemn, but a twinkle in his eyes betrayed the not-so-secret delight he had in the message he was about to deliver. “The father of the young woman who came to see you yesterday is here. He asks to see you urgently, and—”

  “He can bloody well wait until this meeting is over. Sterff, it’s your duty to tell unexpected visitors that they need an appointment and to shield me from these intrusions.”

  “I know, My Lord, but you have also told us, over and over again, to use our own judgment in exceptional circumstances. And these are very exceptional circumstances.”

  “Very well, then. What seems to be the matter?”

  Sterff of Rivrant paused, basking in the attention of everyone present.

  “The wench is dead,” he said eventually. He looked around the room. “She was killed. Killed dead. Killed very dead with a dagger. Murdered.”

  The announcement left everyone in the room dumbfounded for a while. Anaxantis was the first to speak.

  “That’s most unfortunate. This could lead to all kinds of nasty rumors.”

  “Oh, much, much more than just rumors, My Lord.” Sterff looked directly at Eynurm of Tarnwood. “On the cross-guard of the dagger is a family crest.” He let that sink in. To his satisfaction he saw Eynurm’s face become red. “Where is your dagger, Tarnwood?” he asked in a deliberately soft voice.

  “I seem to have mislaid it or lost it,” Eynurm answered, with a sick, sinking feeling to his stomach.

  “Did you, perchance, mislay it in the belly of Mistress Iselda? Because that is where it was found.”

  Everyone in the war room—besides the gleeing messenger of ill tidings—was struck with horror.

  “Are you sure it’s my dagger?” Eynurm asked almost timidly after a while. He seemed to know the answer already.

  “The escutcheon shows two crossed axes.”

  “That’s my dagger, then, but I have no idea…” He looked helplessly around. “I didn’t kill her,” he blurted out.

  “There’s obviously some kind of misunderstanding here,” Obyann said.

  “When was the last time you were certain you still had your dagger?” Anaxantis asked.

  Eynurm frowned.

  “Yesterday afternoon, I think. We had hand-to-hand combat practice and we had to remove our tunics, shirts and belts. My dagger hung on my belt. We all laid our clothes, weapons, and what not under the trees at the side of the training field. We usually do. Sometimes I wear the thing, sometimes I don’t. That’s why I didn’t miss it immediately after practice when we collected our things and went to our lodgings.”

  Sterff’s crooked smile indicated what he thought of Eynurm’s explanation.

  “All right,” Anaxantis said, “this meeting is over. Everybody leave except Eynurm, Obyann and Arranulf. Show the father in when the rest have left, Sterff.”

  In the courtyard, Rahendo and Ryhunzo said goodbye to the other two head pages, Echron and Robrant, who were lodged in another part of the castle.

  It took just a minute to reach the front door of their own lodgings, and that of the masters of pages, which vaguely resembled a stout house, leaning against the outer wall and flanked by other buildings.

  “Didn’t she say Eynurm would never see her again?” Ryhunzo asked as they entered the communal room.

  “For the rest of her life, she said, to be precise. And he didn’t.” Rahendo’s face showed it’s usual depressed expression.

  “Ah, yes, I remember. Tough luck for Nurm, though.”

  “Even tougher luck for her, I’d say. I agree, though, that at first sight it looks very bad for Nurmie too. He says he lost his dagger—and I believe him. Poor Nurmie, first Iselda accuses him of raping her and now he stands to be charged with her murder,” Rahendo said in an even more gloomy mood than usual.

  “Do you think the two are related?”

  “Almost certainly, but I don’t know how exactly they are connected.” Rahendo stopped and looked up to the ceiling. “We can’t let Nurmie take the blame for something he didn’t do.”