The Silent Enemy Page 8

  “Yes, I suppose I must . . .” the Aquilonian finally answered. “and for that I’m very grateful.” Still, he could not be lax in his duties. “But I have to send word somehow—”

  “I’ll send a messenger,” Wulfrim promised. “He’ll deliver whatever message you want. Braggi, most likely. A reliable man.”

  “A Gunderman like our Wulfrim here! Can’t ask for more trustworthy than that, eh?”

  Mulling over the offer, Nermesa decided that it was the best he could hope for at this point. “I thank you, both.”

  Wulfrim stepped from the corner. “It might be good if Sir Nermesa was shown to his quarters, my lady Jenoa.”

  She rose from her chair with the same ethereal grace that accompanied her every other move. “But of course. If you’d please, Nermesa?”

  “With gratitude, my lady.” He looked to Lord Eduarco, but the Poitainian seemed disinclined to leave while there was still some wine and food left on the table. “And with your permission, my lord?”

  “Be off with you, then, my good sir. Sleep well!”

  “I’ll have a servant bring you materials with which you can put together your missive, Sir Nermesa,” Wulfrim said, coming around to where the knight stood. “A pouch and wax for a seal, too, as I know you’ll want the message to be secure for the outpost commander’s eyes only.”

  Nermesa appreciated the Gunderman’s typical practicality and understanding. It was likely that Eduarco relied on him for much of the running of the estate. Gundermen made for excellent overseers and managers.

  “I thank you, Wulfrim.”

  Lady Jenoa’s alabaster arm insinuated itself around Nermesa’s. The Brythunian’s glittering eyes met his. “This way, sir knight.”

  She had likely captivated many a man with those entrancing eyes, but her attempt utterly failed with Nermesa. Purposely looking back at her husband one last time, he said, “Good night, my lord.”

  Mouth full, Eduarco managed a nod.

  Jenoa paused to pick up one of the candelabra from the table. Nermesa politely took it from her, for which he was granted another smile. With his guide leaning uncomfortably close to him, the knight proceeded out of the dining hall.

  They did not, as Nermesa had surmised, head for the staircase. Instead, Jenoa led him toward a side corridor that headed farther to the east.

  “It would be best if you stayed near the tower,” she explained as they walked. “Fewer disturbances. More secluded.”

  Nermesa made no comment.

  “She must be very lovely.”

  “Who, my lady?”

  “Silly! Your betrothed. What was her name?”

  The Aquilonian hesitated, then replied, “Telaria.”

  Eduarco’s wife nodded satisfaction. “A pleasant enough name. I suppose she’s very pleasant. Will it be a grand wedding? With the king and his court invited?”

  While he would have preferred it otherwise, Nermesa knew that the wedding would turn into an event of monumental proportions. “Very likely.”

  “Mine was a simple affair.” And with that, the golden-tressed woman said no more. Still, Nermesa thought he caught a hint of jealousy.

  She brought him to a second set of stairs, these seeming more appropriate for servants seeking to stay out of sight of their masters. Jenoa slipped in front of Nermesa as they ascended, making certain that the knight was provided with an unavoidable view of her curvaceous backside.

  “This back stairway leads more directly to the room in which you will be staying,” the Brythunian beauty explained. She extended one smooth hand upward. “Beyond the floor where you’ll be is the tower. I spend much time up there on my own. Should you find sleep difficult, by all means feel free to visit . . .”

  “Thank you, my lady, but I feel certain that I will be asleep almost the moment my head touches the pillow.”

  She glanced down over her shoulder at him, smiling coyly. “I know you’ve been through quite a lot! Most men wouldn’t have survived, but you made it to our home and on foot, even! You must be a very strong man! I’ve never known such endurance.”

  “I am a Black Dragon. In the service of my liege, I must be prepared to face any trial.”

  Jenoa rewarded him with a throaty chuckle, then gestured at the landing they next approached. “This is the floor.”

  Servants had clearly been sent ahead to prepare the chambers set aside for Nermesa. Candles already illuminated the room, which had mahogany-covered walls—a costly wood as it needed to be imported from a great distance to Poitain—and a blue marble floor upon which lay three large animal-skin rugs. Nermesa identified them as a bear, a panther, and a wolf. To his trained eye, there were marks in the fur where an expert seamstress had closed up gashes, likely from spears or swords.

  “Your husband is a hunter.”

  “Hmm?” His hostess looked perplexed for a moment, then saw where his gaze shifted. “Oh. Yes. A hunter. Yes.”

  The Aquilonian would not have thought it to look at the heavyset noble. Likely, when Eduarco hunted, he had Wulfrim and other men pursue the beast, perhaps even caging it. Then, as was often the case with men of his station, Eduarco would close on the caged animal, stabbing through the bars until it was dead. By the marks Nermesa had noted, it seemed that even then the Poitainian had needed many attempts to finish the task.

  Nermesa immediately chastised himself for thinking so harshly of his benefactor. Lord Eduarco had opened up his home to the struggling knight, and this was how the Aquilonian thanked him. Nermesa immediately focused on the bed and its thick, plush pillows. Four posts carved to resemble Poitainian knights at attention framed the bed, and to the right, a small, matching chest sat. Upon the polished top sat a brass oil lamp.

  “The room is to your liking?”

  “Yes, my lady. Very much so. You needn’t have bothered. I could have slept anywhere.”

  Again came the throaty giggle. “Oh?”

  Silently cursing his poor wording, Nermesa took the woman’s hand and kissed it gently on the back. “My thanks to you and your husband again. If you’ll excuse me, though, I fear I must prepare to retire.”

  To his relief, Jenoa revealed no hint of anger at his continued rejection of her. Instead, the Brythunian woman curtsied—in the process perhaps attempting to remind Nermesa of what he had refused—then said, “May your dreams be pleasant ones . . .”

  It was with an audible exhalation that Nermesa finally shut the door. He had every intention of being out of the estate at first light, the better to keep any further contact with Eduarco’s bride to a minimum. Nermesa felt some sympathy for the noble; clearly he had married more than he had likely expected.

  With avid interest, the knight eyed the bed. However, barely had he reached for the first lace of his armor when there was a knock on the door. Nermesa hesitated, fearing that Jenoa had come back to ply him with her beauty again.

  Fortunately, a male voice from without chose that moment to declare, “My lord Nermesa. ’Tis I, Wulfrim. I’ve brought you parchment, ink, and the other items for your message.”

  Nermesa swung open the door. The Gunderman bowed politely. Bundled in his hands were the various things that he had promised the knight earlier.

  There was a small table with an accompanying chair on one side of the room. Nermesa gestured to it. “There, if you please.”

  Depositing the items on the table, Wulfrim glanced around the room. “You’re alone.”

  “Yes.”

  “I hesitated before knocking,” the Gunderman explained. “My lady Jenoa can be very persuasive, even to those of the staunchest of hearts.” When Nermesa remained silent, Wulfrim executed another slight bow. “Forgive me, my lord. I meant nothing unseemly about it. Just alerting you.”

  “Thank you, but there was no necessity.” Nermesa eyed the parchment. “It shouldn’t take me long to complete the message.”

  “Then, with your permission, I shall wait outside your door and take everything with me to Braggi, who already prep
ares his mount for travel.”

  “I’d be grateful.”

  Setting aside his sword and sheath, Nermesa went to work as soon as the Gunderman departed. At first the message flowed quickly, but the more Nermesa sat, the more his exhaustion sought to take hold again. It was with some effort that he finally finished, then readied the pouch and seal.

  Wulfrim, who had been leaning against the opposing wall in the corridor, straightened as soon as the door opened. He took the sealed message from the Aquilonian, stating, “I’ll see to it that it’s taken care of, my lord.”

  “Thank you again, Wulfrim.”

  “Best you get some sleep now, my lord. Truth to tell, you look all done in.”

  Bolontes’ son could not argue with him. “I plan to do just that.”

  Once the Gunderman had vanished down the hall, Nermesa not only shut the door but bolted it, too. He did not want to chance his hostess suddenly materializing at his bedside in the middle of the night.

  Nermesa quickly doused the candles, leaving only the lamp by the bed on. He sat down atop the bed, trying to catch his breath. When that failed to work, the Aquilonian did what he normally would not have as a guest in such a house. He lay down, armor and all, atop the blankets and pillows. A few minutes’ recuperation would be all that Nermesa needed. Then he would remove everything.

  A bleating sound briefly caught his attention, a sound that reminded him of the call of a goat or sheep. Nermesa would have paid it no mind at all save for the odd notion that it sounded much too close, almost as if the animal wandered inside the house and not all that far from his chambers.

  But when he listened for it again, he heard nothing. Nermesa finally chalked it up to his exhaustion. Once more he cleared his thoughts—

  And the next instant, a hand was covering his mouth with a cloth while some heavy force—his attacker, Nermesa slowly realized—pressed him down onto the bed.

  The oil lamp still glowed dimly, but it failed to reveal much to Nermesa. His attacker was no more than a dark shadow above him. Yet that shadow pressed down upon the Aquilonian as if the world itself.

  Despite his terrible predicament, the Black Dragon felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. There was some concoction on the cloth the intruder held over his nose and mouth that sapped Nermesa of his strength.

  But if the mysterious assassin had caught Nermesa unaware, he himself had underestimated the knight’s resolution. Nermesa did not attempt to knock the figure off of him, but simply used what leverage he could to twist his own body to one side of the bed.

  It was enough to cause his attacker’s hand to slip from his mouth. As Nermesa inhaled fresh air, the other man tried to readjust his position. However, Nermesa’s reflexes took over, the desperate knight managing to shove both of them from the bed.

  They dropped to the floor with a loud thump, their bodies crashing into the small table and knocking it over. The oil lamp went crashing to the floor, and small licks of flame splattered the area. Most faded, the marble providing nothing able to burn, but one of the rugs smoldered, creating a noxious odor that stirred Nermesa from his stupor.

  And as Nermesa’s head cleared and his gaze focused, he recognized just enough about his assailant to know his identity.

  Wulfrim.

  The Gunderman pulled a dagger from his belt. He carried no other visible weapon. A sword would have clattered and made for an awkwardness of movement his treachery forbade. Still, Wulfrim was a Gunderman, which meant that his proficiency with the small blade made him at least as deadly as an ordinary swordsman.

  Nermesa’s sword still lay sheathed some distance away. Trying to buy time while he sought some manner by which to reach his own weapon, the knight muttered, “Why this, Wulfrim? What do you plan?”

  “More than you can dream, Aquilonian,” was all that the bodyguard replied. “More than you can dream!”

  He lunged at Nermesa, the dagger cutting swiftly in a cross motion. The knight gave thanks that he had never loosened his armor. The edge of the Gunderman’s dagger scraped against the lower rim of the breastplate. Nermesa found it odd that Wulfrim should aim at such a place rather than for a more vital one, like the throat, but did not argue his luck.

  Falling back, the Black Dragon collided with the bed. Nermesa barely had time to register this before Wulfrim came at him again. The dagger came slicing down and would have torn into Nermesa’s thigh if not for the Aquilonian’s rolling to the side at the last moment. Instead of flesh, the bodyguard’s blade tore into the expensive covering.

  Seeing his chance, Nermesa threw himself in the direction of his sword. However, Wulfrim quickly turned and seized him by the leg. Nermesa stumbled forward, ending up on one knee.

  The Gunderman tried to pull him back with the one hand, while no doubt positioning his dagger for another strike. Nermesa kicked with his free leg and felt it connect hard with Wulfrim’s jaw.

  His adversary let out a grunt of surprise, and the hold on Nermesa’s leg loosened. The knight immediately scrambled for the sheath. He seized the lower edge and dragged it toward him. The sheath fell with a clatter, shaking the sword but fortunately not tossing it free.

  A brief shuffling noise from behind Nermesa was all that warned him that Wulfrim was moving in on him again. The Aquilonian swung the sheath around.

  His timing was fortuitous. The sheath acted as a shield, blocking Wulfrim’s dagger. The bodyguard cursed and raised his arm. In his other hand, he now clutched the cloth again.

  Nermesa slipped his own hand toward the hilt of his sword as he deflected yet another attack. Wulfrim must have noticed, for the Gunderman, dropping the cloth, grabbed at the sheath with the obvious intention of wresting both it and the sword from his intended victim.

  From without, Nermesa suddenly heard the sounds of approaching men. Somehow, he doubted that they were rushing to his aid. Wulfrim surely acted on the orders of his master, and since the bodyguard’s attempt had clearly not succeeded yet, Lord Eduarco wanted to make certain that Nermesa would not escape.

  Wulfrim continued tugging on the sheath. Nermesa decided to let him have it and the sword. Using the Gunderman’s own strength, the knight shoved the heavy hilt upward. It struck the would-be assassin in the temple.

  Tumbling backward, Wulfrim struck the floor. Nermesa’s assailant lay there, moving but clearly stunned.

  The Black Dragon had no time to concern himself with the bodyguard. Those without were already using force to break open the door, which was still bolted. Nermesa immediately surveyed the chamber for the hidden passage that Wulfrim had clearly used but could find nothing. The window was too narrow for him to crawl through. If Nermesa wanted out, he would have to use the door.

  Leaping forward, he batted the bolt to the side.

  Barely had Nermesa done so, when the door burst open, and three men poured inside. Nermesa noted little about them individually save that they were not Gundermen, but merely guards such as those who stopped him outside the estate.

  He dealt swiftly with the first, who was still startled at the door’s sudden opening. The guard barely had time to raise his weapon before Nermesa ran him through the throat. The knight then shoved his dying foe into the next nearest figure, sending both crashing to the side.

  Acrid smoke wafted past Nermesa’s nostrils. He felt heat coming from behind him. Unable to glance back, he could only assume that either the one skin was now on fire or some previously unnoticed oil spill had slowly burned on, finally spreading.

  Then the third of the guards met him sword to sword. Nermesa avoided two swift jabs at his midsection, then shoved the man’s blade up. He shoved into the other fighter, sending both of them flying out into the corridor.

  Two other men there pulled back in surprise. Out of the corner of his eye, Nermesa saw that one of them was Lord Eduarco. The noble took one look at the knight’s furious expression, let out a frightened sound, and rushed toward the stairway.

  The fighter with him, another Gunderman, gra
bbed for Eduarco’s arm but failed. With a growl, he turned to deal with Nermesa, who had finally run his other opponent through.

  A furtive glance by the Gunderman warned Nermesa that there was someone coming up behind him. The Black Dragon leapt aside just as the guard he had thrown the body of his first foe against emerged from the room. The man let out a curse as he stumbled between Nermesa and the Gunderman.

  The Gunderman seized the guard and threw him aside before charging his foe. Nermesa ducked the blade. The force with which the Gunderman had swung sent the ponytailed figure turning and before he could compensate, Nermesa thrust, killing him.

  A quick fist to the head of the remaining guard left the way open for Nermesa. He ran to the staircase with the intention of heading down, but shouts erupted from there just as he took his first step. A quick estimate of those voices made it clear that the Aquilonian dared not stand against them. The knight looked over his shoulder, yet not only did he not see another stairway, but smoke now billowed out of his former chambers.

  With no other choice, Nermesa headed up in the direction of the tower. If necessary, he would use Lord Eduarco to bargain his way out of the estate. It was not chivalrous, but his time serving King Conan had taught him that there were moments when chivalry was synonymous with a death wish. Besides, Nermesa had a duty to his liege to uncover the truth about what was happening in Poitain.

  With a two-step stride, the Aquilonian rushed up. He came to the next landing, but after a glance down the corridor suspected that his treacherous host had continued on.

  From above came a loud thump. Nermesa gripped his sword tighter. Yes, Eduarco had to be up there, and the sound was likely that of the noble preparing a trap.

  But as the top of the stairway came into sight, the knight saw his quarry peer down nervously in his direction. Eduarco looked as pale as death and weaved back and forth as if not at all certain which direction to go. With clear reluctance, the man finally stood his ground and drew from a sheath at his side, a fairly cumbersome sword that he did not appear to wield well.