The Blood Knight - J. Gregory Keyes [1]
“The rose is not from me, anyhow,” he explained. “Have it as you will. Please take a seat.”
His diffident wave indicated several chairs surrounding a thick oaken table. The furniture rested on carved talons, in keeping with the monstrous theme of the room, a little-used chamber hidden deep in the windowless interior of the castle known as the Waurmsal.
Two large tapestries hung on the walls. One depicted a knight wearing antique chain mail and a conical helm, wielding an improbably broad and lengthy sword against a waurm with scales picked in gold, silver, and bronze threads. Its snakelike body coiled around the borders of the weaving, flowing toward the center where the knight stood, and there lifted deadly claws and gaped a mouth filled with iron teeth dripping venom. So well crafted was the textile that at any moment it seemed as if the great serpent would slither out of it and onto the floor.
The second tapestry seemed much older. Its colors were faded, and in places the fiber appeared worn through. It was woven in a simpler, less realistic style and portrayed a man standing beside a dead waurm. The figure was so austerely imagined that she could not be certain it portrayed the same knight, whether he wore armor or merely a jerkin of odd design. The weapon he held was much more modest, more a knife than a sword. He had one hand lifted to his mouth.
“You’ve been in here before?” Robert asked as she reluctantly took a seat.
“Once,” she said. “Long ago. William received a lord from Skhadiza here.”
“When I discovered this chamber—I suppose I was about nine—I found it all dusty,” he said, “scarcely fit to sit in—and yet so charming.”
“Utterly,” Muriele said drily, regarding a grotesque reliquary that stood against one wall. It was mostly wooden, carved somewhat in the form of a man with arms held outstretched. In each clawed hand he held a gold-plated human skull. Instead of a Mannish face, he had a snake’s head with ram’s horns, and his legs were very short, ending in birdlike claws. His belly was a glass-doored cabinet behind which she could make out a narrow, slightly curved cone of ivory about the length of her arm.
“That wasn’t here before,” she said.
“No,” Robert agreed. “I bought that from a Sefry merchant a few years ago. That, my dear, is the tooth of a waurm.”
He said it like a little boy who had found something interesting and expected to be rewarded with special attention.
When none came, he rolled his eyes and rang a little bell. A maidservant appeared, bearing a tray. She was a young woman with dark hair and a single pox mark on her face. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and her lips were pressed together so tightly as to be pallid.
She set goblets of wine before each of them, left, and then returned with a platter of sweets: candied pears, butter biscuits, brandied cakes, sweet cheese fritters in honey and—Muriele’s favorite—maiden moons, saccharine turnovers filled with almond paste.
“Please, please,” Robert said, taking a drink of his wine and gesturing broadly at the treats.
Muriele regarded her wine for a moment, then took a sip. Robert had no particular reason to poison her at the moment, and if ever he did, there wasn’t anything she could do about it. Everything she ate and drank in her prison tower came ultimately through him.
The drink was surprising, not wine at all but something with a honey taste.
“There,” Robert said, setting his goblet on the table. “Lady Berrye, is it to your liking?”
“It’s very sweet,” she allowed.
“A gift,” Robert said. “It is an extraordinarily fine mead from Haurnrohsen—a present from Berimund of Hansa.”
“Berimund is very generous lately,” Muriele remarked.
“And he has a high regard for you,” Robert said.
“Obviously,” she replied, unwilling to curb her sarcasm.
Robert drank again, then took the cup in both hands, turning it slowly between his palms. “I noticed you enjoying the tapestries,” he said, peering down into his mead. “Do you know the man depicted here?”
“I do not.”
“Hairugast Waurmslauht, the first of the house