The Born Queen - J. Gregory Keyes [152]
The knight turned his head this way and that and, apparently satisfied he hadn’t ridden into a trap, doffed the headgear, discovering an oval-faced man of twenty-something years with auburn hair and a lighter red mustache.
“I hait Sir Ilzereik af Aldamarka,” he said in accented but good king’s tongue. “I declare this house and its grounds spoils of war in the name of Marcomir, king of Hansa.”
“I hait Leovigild Ackenzal,” he replied. “I’m a guest here, by leave of Duke Artwair Dare.”
“You live alone, Fralet Ackenzal?”
“No.”
“Bring the others, then.”
“I can’t do that until I have your word they will be well treated.”
“Why do you think you’re in a position to bargain?” Ilzereik asked. “Who are you protecting? Your wife and daughters, perhaps? I could find them easily enough and do whatever I liked with them. But I am a knight of Hansa, not some thrall of your dead witch-queen. You need not beg me to behave properly in the eyes of the saints.”
“I’m not begging,” Leoff said. He’d been afraid of men like this once. He wasn’t anymore, not for himself, anyway.
“Your house is mine,” the knight said. “My men will sleep in the yard. You and whoever else is here will see to our needs. Do that and no harm will come to you. Is that understood?”
“It’s understood,” Leoff said. “If that is your word as a knight of Hansa.”
“It is,” the knight said. “Now, my man Aizmeki will go with you to find the others.”
Aizmeki wasn’t a big man, but he looked to be made of muscle and scars and not much else. He followed Leoff wordlessly out to the garden and the little cabin there.
Areana rushed out and hugged him. Mery just peered at the warrior as if he were some strange insect and took Leoff’s hand in her little cold one.
The knight’s word proved good, at least for that afternoon. Although many of the Hansan warriors leered openly at Areana and some at Mery, which was disgusting, none dared do more than make a few probably crude comments in their own language, and they returned to the house in peace.
He found Ilzereik looking through his music.
“Who wrote this?” he asked.
“I did.”
“You did?” The knight peered at him a little more intently. “You’re a composer?”
“I am.”
“Ackenzal,” the knight mused. “I don’t recall the name.”
“You know music?”
“I studied a little. My father thought I should, so he kept an instructor in our hall and sent me each autumn to study at the Liuthgildrohsn.”
“Ah. With Mestro Evensun.”
A little smile played on the knight’s face. “You know the mestro?”
“I do. He lectured at the college when I was apprenticed to Mestro DaPeica.”
The smile broadened. “I have a book of DaPeica’s short works for hammarharp.”
Leoff nodded.
“Well,” the knight said, gesturing toward the hammarharp, “play me something of yours.”
“I’m afraid I can’t,” Leoff said.
“You shouldn’t fear my criticism,” the Hansan said. “I’m not a snob. The great composers and the small, I like them all.”
“That isn’t it,” Leoff said, holding up his hands.
“Schithundes,” the man swore. “What happened?”
“He was tortured,” Areana interrupted in a brittle voice. “He’s suffered much.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” the knight said. “And I understand you, Frauja Ackenzal. Your husband will not suffer at my hands, not if you all behave.”
“I can play for you,” Mery said softly. “Areana can sing.”
“Really?” Ilzereik looked pleased. “I would like that, barnila.”
Leoff squeezed Mery’s hand. “Play the Poelen Suite,” Leoff said. “I think he’ll like that. And play it as written, Mery. Do you understand?”
She nodded and went to sit at the instrument. Areana went hesitantly to join her.
Mery put her fingers on the keys and struck down. The chord rang a little wrong, and Leoff bit his lip and prayed to the saints that she could hold back the darkness in her.
But the second chord was pure, and from there everything proceeded smoothly. Areana’s voice was lovely, as always, and when they finished, the knight applauded.
“I never expected to find such wonderful accommodations,” he said. “Sir, let’s have some