The Charnel Prince - J. Gregory Keyes [76]
“How could I refuse such a kind gesture?” Her lips pursed. “But still, it puts me in your debt. You must let me make it up to you somehow.”
“That’s not necessary,” he said, trying very hard to keep his voice from breaking.
“No, I know just the thing. I’m having a small fete on Saint Bright’s Eve. You’re new here, and could do with some introductions, I’m sure. I insist you attend.”
“That’s very kind, lady.”
“Not at all. It’s the least I can do for someone who indulges my little Mery. There, it’s settled.” Her gaze shifted. “Mery, when you’ve finished your lessons, come to my apartments, will you?”
“Yes, Mama,” the girl replied.
“Good day to you, then,” Gramme said.
“Good day to you, Lady Gramme.”
“You might call me Ambria,” she replied. “Most of my friends do.”
Mery left a bell later, and Leoff returned to his work, a tense excitement growing in his belly. It felt right, it felt perfect, the way his composition was growing. It felt important, too, but that consideration he tried to keep at a distance. If he thought about that too much, the task grew daunting.
Toward vespers, he heard footsteps and a small rap at his door. He found Artwair standing there, dressed much as when he had first met him, in traveling clothes.
“My lord!” he said, reaching for his crutches.
“No, no, keep your seat,” Artwair said. “Surely we’ve no need for that.”
Leoff smiled, realizing just how good it was to see the duke again.
“How are you getting along, Leoff?” Artwair asked, taking a seat on a stool.
“The queen came to see me,” he said. “She’s commissioned a work, and it’s going—well, very well. I’m very hopeful for it.”
Artwair looked a bit surprised. “What sort of a work? Not a requiem, I hope.”
“No, something much more exciting. I tell you, it’s something that has never been done before.”
Artwair raised an eyebrow. “So? Well, have a care, my friend. Sometimes the new isn’t always the best thing for the moment. The local clergy is already muttering about you.”
Leoff waved that away. “The queen has confidence in me. That’s all I care about.”
“The queen is not the only power to be reckoned with in this court.”
“It can hardly be worse than Broogh,” Leoff said.
“It most certainly can,” Artwair said, his voice suddenly as serious as Leoff had ever heard it. “These days, it most certainly can.”
Leoff forced a chuckle. “Well, I’ll try to keep that in mind. But it is a commission, you know, and from the queen.” He paused, again taking in Artwair’s clothing. In the court he had dressed in brocades and linens. “Are you traveling soon?” he asked.
“Yes, actually, I’ve just stopped in to tell you good-bye. There’s a bit of trouble in the east I’ve been asked to handle.”
“More wayward musicians?”
Artwair shook his head. “No, something a little more demanding, I’m afraid. The queen has asked me take an army there.”
Leoff’s heart stuttered a beat. “Are we at war? Is it Hansa?”
“I’m not sure it’s war, and I don’t think its Hansa. Some of the locals have turned into man-eaters, it seems.”
“What?”
“Sounds ridiculous, doesn’t it? People running around naked, rending their neighbors limb from limb. At first it was hard to credit, even when the praifec said it was true. Now—well, several villages have been destroyed, but last nineday they killed everyone in Slifhaem.”
“Slifhaem? I’ve been there. It’s a town of some size, with a fortress.” He paused. “Did you say naked?”
“That’s how we hear it, and more of them every day. The praifec says it’s some sort of witchery. All I know is, I’m to go and put a stop to it before they go pouring into the Midenlands.”
Leoff shook his head. “And you’re warning me to have a care.”
“Well, I’d rather take the field any day and see my death coming on the edge of a sword than die from the nick of a pin or a goblet of poisoned wine here in Eslen,” he said. “Besides, I’ll be strapped in armor with a good sword in my hand and have five hundred excellent men around me. I don’t reckon a bunch of naked madmen will have much chance to do me in.”
“What if they have creatures with them, like