The Blade That Cut the Mouse's Tail [Medieval fantasy, political intrigue]

"What do you mean?" asked the Empress, drawing herself up on her pillows.

"We counted two and twenty coming through the Vale," said Eivind, "but only ten went on to Pothes Mar. The rest rode north this morning."

"You're certain of it?"

The scout inclined his head.

"Do we not have a man inside Pothes Mar, inside the keep?" the Empress asked.

"We do, Your Majesty," said Eivind, "but we have not heard from him in days."

"How many days?"

"Three, Your Majesty."

The Empress's eyebrows rose.

"Three days?" she echoed. "Do you think he has been discovered?"

"It is impossible to say," answered the scout.

The Empress sighed and reached for the cup on her side table, taking a draw.

"What else?" she asked, replacing her cup.

"Lord Athelmar's wife found him with an arrow in his left shoulder."

"But he is alive?"

"He is, Your Majesty. For now."

The Empress nodded.

"And the blockade?" she asked. "The cheval?"

"Nothing further, I'm afraid."

The Empress sat quietly a few moments.

"How many more men have you lost?" she asked.

"Two, Your Majesty," answered Eivind.

"See that it is no more," the Empress said, and with no further exchange, she dismissed the man with a nod.

When he had gone, the Empress climbed from her bed and into a shawl that Mouse held before crossing to her dressing table.

"What does it mean?" she asked as she lowered herself into the blue tasseled chair. "Why did they leave, and why only half? And for god's sake, why did they not send word?"

"Perhaps some are remaining to negotiate while the others go to fetch the gold," said Alfric, who sat comfortably by the hearth, one leg thrown over the other. "Or perhaps some are remaining as hostages."

"Hostages?" said the Empress as Mouse took up a comb to pull through her long, dark hair. "Why would they wish for hostages?"

"To see that the price is settled in full," said Alfric. "To see that it is not some sort of trap."

Mouse eyed the courtier, their gazes meeting only briefly enough to confirm their mutual distrust.

"But it is, isn't it?" asked the Empress. "What is it if not a trap?"

The courtier tugged at his mustaches.

"It is a—" he paused "—mutually beneficial arrangement." He rose and poured himself a cup of wine. "Speaking of which," he said, "have you given any thought lately to choosing a husband?"

"Alfric, do you know what happens to women like me when we wed?" asked the Empress. "We drop dead, rather conveniently for our husbands. I do not marry for the same reason I do not hunt: I rather enjoy being alive."

"The people want an heir," said Alfric. "Do you not owe them as much?"

The Empress was quiet a moment, reaching for her cup and drinking from it.

"When I do give the people an heir," she said, "pray let it be a woman, for I do grow tired of the ceaseless prattling of men."

The crowd outside of the Brendishorn Inn awaited, in hushed murmurs, the appearance of Sir Donegue.

"Sir Donegue, noble Lord of Salling," the squire called, "I beseech you, come out of your house and hear what I have to say."

Not but a moment passed before a man in a red and white tabard appeared, a dark beard peppered with white covering his jaw and his grey eyes shining in the morning sun.

"My redoubted lord, Sir Gerold sends me," the squire said.

"Does he?" Sir Donegue folded his arms across his chest. "And what does he have to say?"

The squire straightened himself.

"On account of the great chivalry and prowess that my redoubted lord knows is in your very noble person, it is of no ill will but in all love and friendship that Sir Gerold, my redoubted lord and your cousin, wishes to challenge you to a bourhort of arms before ladies and damsels and noble persons." He went to his cantle and withdrew from it a sword, holding it upward upon both palms to present it to the knight. "It is therefore that he sends this blade," he said, "which suitable for the purpose."

The knight glanced at the sword, polished and gleaming.

"He wishes to challenge me?"

"Indeed, sir," answered the squire.

The Lord of Salling scratched his chin, his eyes traveling from sword to squire. His answer had no doubt already been determined, but any delay he made in answering served to gratify the amusement of the crowd.

"Tell my cousin that I accept his challenge," he said, "out of no ill will in all love and friendship." He took the sword and weighed it in his hands. "To please him," he said, "and to amuse to the ladies."

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It was with great satisfaction that the crowd broke up and parted from the scene, leaving the squire to present to the knight the blazons of eight others from which the judges might be selected, "men from the esteemed lands of East Marsh, the Westerlands, and the Selmican Coast," he could be heard to say. With the commencailles having concluded the day before, the tournament could now begin in earnest.

"Are you well, Lady Maudeleine?" asked the Val as they walked back toward the camp. "Only you have been rather quiet this morning, even for yourself."

Mouse forced a smile.

"A bit tired is all," she said, "I thank you." But the reality was that she was still trying to puzzle out how Val Hector had become friends with someone as deplorable and scheming as Alfric and whether she ought not to say something to her.

The Val looked up at her with inquisitive blue-green eyes, as though she were trying to weigh the truth of her friend's words.

They continued on along the wall, stepping over a man who sat slumped with a lute still clutched in his hand while nearby two young women lay fast asleep in one another's laps.

"Beg pardon, my ladies," someone said, and the two women turned to meet a lanky young man in an embroidered silk tunic, a belt hanging low around his waist. Upon his lip was the brave beginnings of a mustache, a sign of his blossoming manhood which had not yet reached his voice. "I wonder if you might not be so kind as to tell me where I can find the pavilion of Jacobi."
The young lord was accompanied by half a dozen others similarly if less impressively dressed, and Mouse could not allow that one among them might be above the age of eighteen.
"Yonder, with the cup and flower," she said, indicating a white tent stitched of yellowing cloth not far from where they stood.

"I thank you, kind lady," the young lord said. He cast a lingering look down the two women's frames before continuing on with his army of pubescent soldiers. They marched up to tent, where one of the young men disappeared inside, returning with a man who he dragged out by the collar.

"You, Sir Ulmer," the young lord said in a voice loud enough to draw the attention of all those nearby, "you dare speak ill of my mother, the Lady Julia of Tonnere?"

Sir Ulmer shook his head.

"No, my lord," he said. "That is, I have no recollection of doing such."

The young lord raised his chin and stuck out his foot.

"She has touched your helm and thus accused you," he said. "Do you further your offense by saying that she lies?"

"No, my lord," Sir Ulmer stammered, "only I—I—"

"He's lying, lord!" called a man standing at the fire with a mug of ale in his hand. "I heard him say it!"

"Beat his arse, Wilfred!" goaded another.

The young lord's nostrils flared, and awaiting no further provocation, he and his men began to pummel the accused, knocking him to the ground.

"Please, my lord!" cried Sir Ulmer. "I did not mean it!"

"Cry for mercy, you guileless ape," demanded the young lord as he kicked the man.

"Mercy, my lord! Mercy!" cried Sir Ulmer.

The young lord landed a final blow upon the man, planting a foot in his ribs and knocking him onto his side. He spat on the ground.

"Unchivalrous bastard," he said, turning and stalking away.

The onlooking crowd erupted into laughter and cheers as the young men left. Sir Ulmer rose to his feet, brushing the dust from his clothes, and accepted a mug of ale.

"Unchivalrous bastard," came the laughing mocks of his fellows as they clapped hands upon his shoulders.

"If you are tempted to feel sorry for Sir Ulmer," said Mouse to the Val as they walked away, "pray, do not. For it is one of the few justices women are allowed in this world, to touch the helm of a man who has made offense to them and see him beaten by his peers."

"Is that how it works?" asked the Val, clearly shocked by what she had just witnessed.

"Indeed," said Mouse. "And it is perhaps the only time it can be depended upon that a man will be held accountable for his actions, so best enjoy it while you can."

They continued on until they arrived at the tiltyard, where Mouse found that Sir Gerold and the men of Tuilidge had already brought their weapons to be weighed and measured by the adjudicators.

"Sir Gerold," Mouse called as she approached. "Please allow me to congratulate you upon being awarded appellant and on your cousin's acceptance of your challenge. I would wish you luck, but I am afraid that fortune of birth and skill have left little to improve upon."

"You honor me, my lady," the knight said in reply. "If it is no hindrance upon your person," he continued before she could go, "I do wonder if you might not honor me further." Mouse raised a curious brow. "I know that my men are deplorable napes," said Sir Gerold. "They are undisciplined, brutish, and have not yet learned to master their tongues, but if you might forgive them their former obscenities, that is, if you do not find it a mark upon your own honor, nothing would esteem us more than if you would allow us to carry your favor into battle."

Mouse looked at him in a mixture of amusement and surprise.

"You would like my favor?" she asked.

"If it does not offend my lady," said Sir Gerold, "and if you have not already promised it to another."

Mouse felt a smile tug at her lips. She had indeed begun to form the impression that Sir Gerold liked her, but she had been wholly unprepared for such a request.

"You flatter me, sir," she said. "I shall be more than glad to grant you my favor."

The knight placed a grateful hand on his chest.

"I'm afraid I've no veil upon me at the moment," said Mouse, "but I shall fetch one and bring it to you before the time."

"And so shall we do our utmost to be worthy of it," the decorous Sir Gerold said.

"I beg your pardon," said the Val as they walked away, continuing past the far end of the list, "but have you just promised your favor to Sir Gerold?"

"Yes," said Mouse, "though I would not be surprised if he asked only because he knew of no one else."

The Val nodded.

"And do you not think that Sir Conrad will be disappointed?"

Mouse paused. In truth, she had considered it, but now that she did, she felt foolish.

"No matter," said the Val, marking the look on her friend's face, "I shall give him my favor in your stead. And then I shall force him to ride as a proud knight of the Chatti."

"I should rather like to see that," said Mouse, "a Chatti knight."

"A Chatti knight from Pothes Mar," the Val smiled.

They had come to the road by now, having gone the long way round, and walked back now directly toward the keep.

Mouse glanced at her friend. The sense that she should warn her about Alfric still nagged at her. But what should she say? For it was not just Alfric that was the danger, it was an empire working against the girl. She bit down on her lip. She thought of the edict, the one that would annex the Chatti lands to the Empire, the one she had thrown into the fire. She could tell Val Hector the truth, tell her what she knew, and thereby risk everything, not just her own life and whatever punishment awaited such a treasonous act of rebellion but the freedom of a nation. But the other option was to remain quiet and risk living in the shadow of regret.

"It is a shame that somewhere so beautiful should be the seat of so much ugliness," said the Val, pausing on the road. Mouse followed her gaze toward the castle that rose beyond, its pale walls illuminated by the morning sun. "Badulf told me that every Arosian should see Kriftel at least once, that coming here would feel like coming home. And do you know, I think he was right, but I can't make out whether or not it is a good thing."

There was a rueful smile upon Val Hector's lips as she gazed ahead, and Mouse looked at her curiously.

"My father was Arosian," the Val said, answering the question before Mouse could ask it. "I did not know him, but I knew of him."

Mouse tried not to let the shock show on her countenance, but nothing could have surprised her more than to learn that the Val was Arosian, even by half.

"I am sorry to hear it," she said, in lieu of being able to conjure any more elegant remark.

The Val glanced up at her and smiled.

"You need not be, for I am not certain that I am," she said. "Such men do not often make good fathers."

Mouse knit her brow together as the women continued down the road, past the maze of tents that branched across the camp, past the carts that rattled and creaked as they carried loaves of bread and empty casks into the town. Her mind puzzled over this new information, and she found herself what, if anything, it might change about the Val's circumstance.

"Pray, forgive me," she said, a thought suddenly occurring to her, "but have you a given name? Something a friend might call you?" She had always known that "Val" was no more than a title, much in the way of "Lady" or "Sir," and "Hector" a clan name, and she could not decide now which was the more impertinent: asking or the fact that she had not done so sooner.

"I do, as it happens," said the Val, "though if I am to tell you, I would ask that you keep it to yourself."

"Certainly," said Mouse.

The Val stopped and looked at her.

"It's Jira," she said. "Jira Toth."