Page 10

“And here is our combat training arena.”

The air in this large space smelled of sawdust and dirt. Alia leading the way over to some tiered wooden seats, so she and Talac could watch the last few minutes of Master Sword Peggy run through some cool down exercises with their under sevens group. It was reassuring to note not a single head had turned in their direction as they entered. Though Alia could sense the curiosity racing through the nine children as they raised and lowered their wooden blades in perfect unison, breathing deeply, diligently following Peggy’s instructions.

This tour was into its fifth hour and her companion showed no signs of being weary, or losing interest in anything Lair related. He asked copious questions, not just of Alia, but of everyone they met at the blacksmiths, tannery, stables, bathhouses, distillery, butchers, weapons locker, kitchens and along the walls, as they walked the battlement perimeter.

Surprisingly, Talac didn’t ask anything of a personal nature. All his queries were focused on how things had been built, what tasks people performed and whether they enjoyed living at the Lair. Perhaps more shocking was how her people reacted to Talac. The man exerted no charm, but there was something about him that her people instantly respected and responded to.

He’d readily tried his hand at pumping the forge, mixing dyes at the tannery and even kneading dough at the bakery. Displaying talent at the range with both a crossbow and throwing lance, hitting the target bullseye every time.

Yet not once did he ask about their defences. The narrow windows. The spiked posts. The excessive number of guards on the battlements. Though she observed Talac drink in every detail, no doubt drawing his own conclusions.

She wondered what he thought of Master Sword Peggy. The man was large, with a long grey mane of hair and matching beard. He had scars marking his bare arms and face. He looked beyond disreputable, though his clothes were clean and well made. Perhaps it was the wooden peg leg. Or perhaps it was the opaque white eyes that didn’t focus and yet… somehow, Peggy seemed to see all.

The children instantly swarmed their teacher as their class came to a conclusion. Laughing. All talking at once. The man unerringly addressing each by name, patting them on the head or shoulder. He was shaking his head, smiling, which somehow made his scarred features look scarier but didn’t bother the children a jot.

Finally, the man waved a hand, nodding his head in agreement to their pleas. All nine children racing eagerly to the arena boundary, swapping their wooden swords for two steel throwing knives each. Then, on silent feet, the children moved to surround their teacher, standing some eight feet away at irregular intervals, encircling him.

Peggy took one deep breath and nodded, that was the signal. He plucked the first two knives thrown at him out of the air, dropping them instantly. Batting away a third with a gloved hand, making sure it was redirected to the ground. The next knife, heading for his chest, Peggy grabbed it by the handle, reversing his hold so he could use it to knock the rain of knives aside that now pelted at him. Silence fell, Peggy shifting his attention to one slim raven haired girl wearing a bright yellow waistcoat and black breeches. The only one left holding a knife.

“That just leaves you, Jamie.”

Alia watched on as her niece took a slow steady breath, pulled pack her throwing arm and followed through, but maintained hold of the knife. Already pulling her arm across her body and using a flick of the wrist to finally release the knife. With a soft snick it embedded itself in Peggy’s wooden leg. A whoop of victory sounding from the children, who surrounded a flushed and pleased Jamie to congratulate her. Peggy stomping forward, still wearing the knife embedded in his leg like a badge of merit, patting the girl on the head.

“Is he really blind?”

Alia watched the children and Peggy leave, uncomfortably aware that for the first time today she and Talac were alone.

“Almost totally. He lost both his sight and leg in a pirate attack.”

“He was attacked by pirates?”

“No, he was the pirate doing the attacking.”

Talac searched Alia’s expression, clearly trying to interpret if she was being serious. Shrugging finally, as if the answer didn’t matter, he got to his feet, wandering over to the weapons stand, eyeing the array.

Alia trailed after him, in case he had any questions, not because she found herself strangely drawn to him.

“How young do you start the children training?”

“They begin exercise classes from the age of three, focusing on balance and endurance. Practise weapons are issued to them at aged five.”

“It sounds young.”

Picking up a slim rapier Talac absently gauged its weight and balance. Finding it to his liking.

“How old were you when you held your first weapon?”

She enquired, intrigued.

“I believe I was gifted my grandfather’s favourite battle knife whilst still in the cradle.”

“And you were expected to follow in his footsteps?”

“Yes, all roads led to me being a King’s man.”

Picking up another rapier, Talac handed it to Alia.

“Shall we? Spar?”

Spar? That really didn’t seem like a good idea. Hurting a King’s man might bring heaven knows what kind of punishment down upon Gloomenthrall.

“I really don’t-”

Alia ceased talking as Talac gifted her with a taunting grin, as if he knew what she was thinking. Something about that smile, warmth unfurled low in her gut.

“Afraid?”

“Of you? No. Of hurting you? Yes.”

And now she was talking to his back as Talac strode away from her out into the arena, finally turning, settling into the challenge ready position.

“The only thing that might get hurt today will be my feelings if you refuse me this request.”

“Are you trying to channel Lord De’Luca? Because that just sounded wrong coming from you.”

“For Gods’ sake, just get over here and show me what you’re made of.”

“Hah. That sounds more like you.”

Alia strode out into the centre of the arena to join him.

“What rules shall we play by?”

“Touches only, first to five.”

“Sounds fair.”

Agreed Alia, also settling into the ready position.

“And to sweeten the pot, the winner may ask one question… one personal question, that the loser must answer truthfully.”

Darn it, she couldn’t back down now. She would look like a ninny with a wagon load of personal secrets, which of course she unfortunately was. Hah, the solution was easy, she would just need to win this challenge.

Their first few parries were nothing more than a warm up, to carefully get a feel for their opponent’s mettle. Soon they settled into a rhythm of thrusts and parries, parries and thrusts… faster and faster.

Talac moved like quicksilver, surprisingly graceful for a muscular man of his size and clearly expertly trained. They circled around the arena, kicking up sawdust. First it was Alia trying to press for an advantage. And then it was her turn to back up as Talac moved into offensive mode.

Yet still neither one had scored a single touch.

Alia didn’t allow herself to become frustrated, although she was aware of the passing time, how her breathing was becoming a little laboured, how sweat was forming on her brow and between her breasts. Her arm felt fine, for the moment, but this was going to be a long bout, unless one of them did something unexpected.

The longer they fought the more obvious it became that Talac was capable of hitting harder, whilst Alia moved with just a fraction more speed. Somehow this equation balanced them so neither one could get the upper hand or find an opening.

They broke apart after a particularly long thrust and parry bout, both breathing fast, circling one another.

“How long do you think you can keep this pace up?”

Flexing her arm and shoulder to test it, Alia shrugged.

“I’m good.”

“As am I. But do we really want to continue exerting ourselves fruitlessly?”

“You’re conceding? I accept.”

“Not at all. I’ll happily continue the bout. I just question whether this is the best use of our time and energy, given how evenly matched we appear to be, we could be at this for hours.”

Frowning, Alia continued to circle Talac, watching, ready.

“I do have a myriad of other things I could be doing. What are you proposing?”

“A détente. No winner. No loser.”

That was a thoroughly civilised suggestion coming from a man who made his living by the sword. Talac was proving to have surprising depths and good sense. His solution revealing steely self-control, and a refusal to be ruled by his ego. Many a man, when fighting a woman, would never call her an equal, no matter how much evidence was presented. They would too often fight themselves to exhaustion and possible death, stubbornly clinging to their misguided masculine beliefs until the bitter end. Talac was proving the exception.

It made Alia even more wary of him, yet she was not so foolish as to refuse his suggestion.

“I agree with your terms. How do we go about-”

Watching as Talac casually lay his rapier down in the sawdust at his feet. It didn’t feel like a trap. And that twinkle that sparkled in his grey eyes, it invited Alia to have faith in his word. It would be churlish not to match his actions. Bending over to lay her own rapier down in the sawdust at her feet.

There was a strange fierce smile on Talac’s face as he stepped over his rapier to close in on her position, extending his hand.

“Well met, competitor.”

His rough hand warm and strong as it enclosed hers briefly as they shook hands.

“Well met, competitor.”

Alia echoed, forced to exert a little effort to free her hand from his. Not sure who was reluctant to let go of whom. Which was a silly thought.

“Shall I escort you to the infirmary?”

“With the tour only half completed?”

“What else is there left to see besides the hayloft, the vegetable garden and the cool house where the canning is done?”

“I knew you were holding out on me. But first, let’s grab a drink and some lunch.”

It wasn’t a suggestion, as he was already hooking his arm through hers, drawing Alia outside into the sunshine.

Alia could have dug her heels in. But she was very aware everyone in the Lair was watching her interactions with Talac with strange avid interest. There was no reason to give the gossips any more fuel, so she obliged. Besides, a few more hours spent in Talac’s company would cost her nothing and clear this debt that he seemed to believe existed between them for some reason.

They were only half way across the courtyard when Talac broke the silence.

“I’ve been considering our challenge wager. It’s still in effect you realise.”

If he hadn’t been holding her up, she would have tripped over her own large feet.

“No winner, no loser. We agreed.”

“Or, if you were to look at it from another angle, two winners or two losers.”

“I would heartily disagree. The bout, and therefore the challenge, was voided.”

They passed through the narrowed arched doors, entering the main hall. There was a handful of people present at the long tables, indulging in a late lunch. Hopefully there would be nothing left to eat and Alia could part ways with Talac on the pretext of seeking them out some food.

Darnation, she should have known the kitchen staff would be two steps ahead of her, as Cassiopi, their head cook - who’d found Talac and all his questions surprisingly tolerable during their tour of the kitchens - personally brought out two laden plates. One of her assistants following on her heels with goblets and a full jug of mead.

When they were finally settled at a table of Cassiopi’s choosing, one annoyingly devoid of any other Lair inhabitants, Alia found herself alone with Talac as he resumed their interrupted conversation.

“I propose a conclusion to our challenge.”

“You’re like a sunlion with a bone. We laid our swords down.”

Alia dug into the spinach and cheese pie, still warm, direct from the oven.

“The challenge is over.”

“But our agreement on the prize remains.”

“Since we agreed there were no winners, the prize is effectively null and void.”

“But in the same breath there are no losers… so I believe there should be two prizes in the offing.”

“Honestly, all this talking, it’s more exhausting than the challenge itself. What say once we finish eating, we return to the arena, pick up our rapiers and continue the bout where we left off?”

“Or… we each get to ask a personal question of the other.”

Talac proposed.

Oh, that did sound tempting, she would like to know more about what made this enigmatic man tick. Hah, and wasn’t that how all good traps were laid, with something you really wanted as bait. And let’s not forget by agreeing to such a suggestion, Alia would be opening herself up to heaven knows what intrusive personal question Talac would ask of her.

She could lie. But the Gods, and she suspected Talac, would know if she did, given the man’s close study of everything she did and said on this tour he’d insisted upon.

She could refuse to countenance his idea, but he’d proven nothing but tenacious in all their previous interactions. Alia couldn’t see him yielding to good sense, as their bet left him horrifyingly exposed to any number of invasive questions she might ask. He had to have factored that in. Yet, he wasn’t backing down.

Better to get this over with quickly, rather like one of Mary’s nasty healing elixirs.

“Fine. Ask your question.”

“On our travels here, we encountered many locals who advised us to beware, how their grandparents had told them tales of the Beast of Gloomenthrall from the cradle. Now, you aren’t that old. So, I’d like to hear the story about how the first Beast of Gloomenthrall came to be.”

Oh, for some reason she was a little disappointed in his question.

“You could have asked anyone for a tale such as that.”

“No. I don’t believe I could. Well… pay up, Beast.”

“It all started when my Great-Great-Great-Great… Great Grandfather married a woman from the Southern Blue Isles. He was captivated by her beauty, wealth and spirit. Or so the story goes. At first everything went swimmingly. He spent her dowry money on adding a new wing to the Keep and at his new wife’s insistence, had some of the woods cleared away directly across from the Keep. Planting a garden for her and having a building erected that would just be for her use located in the middle of it. An orangery made from stone imported from her homeland.

In the early years, purportedly, the marriage was a happy one. The fact that she produced eight daughters and one son seems to support that.

But as the years passed by, they began to clash more and more. He wanted a spare, in case anything happened to his heir. His lady wife almost dying giving him yet another daughter. The healers recommending she cease trying for more children, given her health. I suspect that was the first wedge of discontentment to be sown.

The other main point of contention was the Lord’s treatment of the injured soldiers who were roaming the lands following the end of the great war with the Cerabians. Unemployment was rife, and many of these former soldiers were grievously injured and on the cusp of starvation. His Lordship became outraged when he heard his lady wife was feeding and offering shelter to these men.

One day the Lord and Lady had a tremendous fight. Things get hazy when it comes to the outcome of their blowout. Some say his Lordship banished his wife from the Keep. Other stories claim she fled to the orangery, vowing never to return until his Lordship apologised. Her final words to him a curse on his line, blessing it with an overabundance of female spawn.

One thing all the stories agree on is that during their very loud final argument, accusations were hurled on both sides. But only one stuck, as Baron Gloomenthrall spitefully declared his wife to be so old and ugly now that she was no better than a Beast, and that he would see her dead in her Lair, before she would ever be allowed to step foot in his Keep again.

That good Lady embraced the title and began the first steps in turning her gardens and orangery into the Lair that stands today. She swore that no one in need who knocked at her door would be turned away. And… a legend was born.”

“And since then, there have been successive Beasts?”

“Yes. Many. Each one has contributed to the health and wealth of the Lair. Some business orientated. Some more strategic. Over the years, given our sheer number of female relatives, the idea of a hunt was born to test the mettle of suitors. To ensure they were worthy of a Gloomenthrall bride.”

“But the fortifications and battlements? Were those really necessary?”

“Absolutely. In the past the Lords of Gloomenthrall have often looked to the Lair to shore up their coffers. They are, as the curse purports, a line blessed with an overabundance of females. Historically, the Lords have done little more than bluster and bleat. But occasionally one will get it into his head to try something a little more overt, such as attempt to infiltrate or storm the Lair walls.”

“Why have you never fully sundered yourselves from the Keep’s overreach?”

“The overabundance of female kin. They’re more effective than hostages. If we in the Lair wish to be involved in their education and combat training, we must walk a fine line. More importantly, with this arrangement in place we get to have a say in whom they can… and cannot marry.”

“Hah, what a canny solution. From the moment those suitors arrive they are being tested, are they not? You have spies amongst the servants at the Keep.”

“Yes.”

Alia wasn’t surprised Talac had sussed out her people, that was his gift, watching from the shadows.

“Although don’t forget to factor in the female kin, they also get a say.”

Alia rolling her eyes to the heavens.

“Most of the aunts and older cousins have helpful suggestions, though we find the younger lot are often misled by flattery and a handsome face.”

“You move people around like they’re chess pieces. Using the hunt as an excuse to position the players to your whims and get the outcome you require.”

Talac sounded genuinely admiring. Alia cheeks suddenly feeling too flushed.

“If only it were that simple. In the real world it’s messy, complicated, and too often ends in tears of both joy and resentment.”

“Fascinating. But how did you come to take on the title of Beast?”

Forcing a teasing smile took effort, as did keeping her tone light and careless.

“Now that would be a second personal question. And you only won the right to ask one.”

“True.”

“And now it is your turn to pay up, Captain Talac.”

His expression turning quizzical at the emphasis she put on his title and name.

“If that really is your name.”

Oooh, she’d definitely hit a nerve, Talac’s expression had shifted to one of inscrutable bland interest. “Tell me.”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice.

“I believe you to be a King’s man, but you’re not merely Captain of the Guard, you’re one of his notorious master spies, aren’t you?”

The bland expression remained affixed to his face, but that twinkle was back in Talac’s eyes, as if her accusation amused him somehow.

Leaning forward also, lowering his voice to a mere whisper he responded.

“The question you ask demands a truthful answer, given the terms of our agreement.”

The edge of his lips quirking upwards suddenly in a wry almost smile. “Yes.”

Yes? Yes! She’d been right. The way he studied everything and everyone around him. The way he clung to the shadows. How he moved, spoke, and conversed with others and collected intelligence: carefully, polite, interested, but never overt or overly memorable. She’d totally guessed right.

“I am of course requesting you keep this information to yourself. Not just my life but others would be at risk if this were to get out.”

Alia nodded solemnly. She was a keeper of secrets, one more was no burden. “Why do-”

“Na-uh.”

Talac waggled a finger in her face.

“One personal question has been asked and answered. Our challenge is complete.”

What? She’d told him a long involved story of how the first Beast of Gloomenthrall came to be, and all she got in return was a one word response? Why, the tricky sneaky devil. Huh, she supposed those were also the requirements that made him such a good master spy.

Still, she’d known there would be a trap, some kind of catch, but it felt hollow to be proven right. More interesting was that twinkle that had sparked in his eyes following her query. She had the distinct feeling that Captain Talac, master spy of the Vallas Realm, was hiding even more secrets. Ones he was welcome to keep private, as long as he did her the same courtesy.

Except, she was forgetting the man was like a sunlion with a bone, she doubted his curiosity regarding her and the Lair had been sated by the story regarding its origins.

Darnation, she had a man living under her roof for the foreseeable future who made a living out of skulking in the shadows and ferreting out long hidden truths. What would be better, to keep him at a distance or close by her side where she could keep an eye on his comings and goings?

Close, definitely keep him close. Alia in no way prepared to examine the little flickers of heat that zinged through her blood at the idea of spending more time in Talac’s company. That was merely her instincts telling her that a hunt was in the offing. And she did love a good challenging hunt.

Problem was, this time Alia wasn’t sure who was the hunter and who was the prey.