The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [9]
Creslin smiles falsely, and his stomach turns again. Dreric’s doing? But why would anyone start an attack and then leave as soon as they she pinked his arm? Creslin does not look at his arm, although his senses tell him that it bears a needlesized hole, and the slit in his silks is so narrow that it cannot be seen.
Compared to the mess in the garden, the incident in the corridor is mild, best forgotten, and quickly.
Still, he wonders.
VI
“YOU TOOK A considerable risk, Creslin. What if he had been a master-blade?”
“He wasn’t. He wore the silks too well.”
The Marshall shakes her head. “You realize that this will make your life much harder?”
“My life? I was more worried about your negotiations.” He glances toward the window, where the silken curtains billow in the wind preceding the rain clouds yet on the horizon.
“You couldn’t have helped me more.” The Marshall steps toward the window, then stops and fixes hard blue eyes on her son.
Is she jesting? He waits for her to continue. For a time, the sitting room of the suite is silent.
“A consort, scarcely more than a boy, disarms one of the most notorious blades in Sarronnyn. Nertryl has killed more than a score of blades, male and female.” The Marshall laughs harshly. “And you apologized because you weren’t up to the standard of the guard. Your friend, the herald, had that all over the palace within moments of the time you were back in your room.”
“I fail to see the problem,” Creslin admits.
“What ruling family would willingly accept a consort more deadly than any man west of the wizards and more dangerous than most of the fighting women in Candar? It doesn’t exactly set well with those who respect the Legend.” The Marshall smiles. “That artistry on the other fellow’s cheek was also a bit much. Oh, I know it was justified, but it also shows that you don’t play games. Then, we all learned that a long time ago.” She looks to the window. “In a way, it’s too bad we didn’t get along better with the Suthyan emissary last spring. We’ll do what we can . . .”
Creslin suppresses a frown. At least he hadn’t killed anyone. In view of the Marshall’s mood, he decides not to mention the strange episode in the corridor. The wound in his arm is no more than a pinprick, and his senses and his health tell him that no poisons were involved.
The guard in the doorway shakes her head ever so slightly, mirroring the gesture of the Marshall of Westwind, until Creslin looks in her direction.
VII
Ask not what a man is,
that he scramble after flattery as he can,
or that he bend his soul to a woman’s wish . . .
After all, he is but a man.
Ask not what a man might be,
that he carry a blade like a fan,
and sees only what his ladies wish him to see . . .
After all, he is but a man . . .
The chuckles from the guards at the tables below grate on Creslin’s nerves, but the minstrel continues with his elaborate parody of the frailties of man. With each line, Creslin’s teeth grate ever tighter.
The Marshall’s face is impassive. Llyse, on the other hand, smiles faintly, as if not quite certain whether the verses are truly humorous.
The minstrel, dressed in shimmering, skintight tan trousers and a royal-blue silksheen shirt, flounces across the cleared end of the dais, thrusting—at times suggestively—a long fan shaped as a sword.
“. . . and, after all, he is but a man!”
The applause is generous, and the minstrel bows in all directions before setting aside the comic fan, retrieving his guitar, and pulling up a stool on which to perch and face the crowd as the clapping and whistling die down.
Creslin listens, watches as the silver notes shimmer from the guitar strings and observes the guards’ reaction to the more traditional ballad of Fenardre the Great. The silver-haired young man recalls hearing the words from another silver-haired man.
The minstrel is good, but not outstanding. Creslin is nearly as good as the performer, and he has no pretensions about being a minstrel. The applause is only polite at the end of the ballad. The minstrel inclines his head toward the dais with