Born of Darkness (William King) - William King Page 0,10
towards them. He had the natural grace of the born swordsman and the arrogance of old nobility. He walked up as if he owned the ballroom. He eyed Rhiana with cool insouciance, gave Kormak a clipped smile then looked down at Jonas.
“Frater Jonas, you have returned from whatever mission took you away from us. Has some other poor unfortunate died an unnatural death?”
His voice was a languid drawl, utterly confident. Jonas did not look in the slightest intimidated. He smiled and said, “Sir Kormak, allow me to introduce you to His Grace, Leone, Duke of Albare. The Duke is a notorious duellist and a well-known wit.”
Jonas made the word wit sound as if he had left out the word half before it.
“Ah you are the famous barbarian swordsman. I have heard you are quite good with that blade.”
His manner was provoking. Kormak wondered if this was a deliberate attempt to cause a duel. The Duke did not look stupid. “I had not heard the same about you until Frater Jonas mentioned it.”
Leone frowned. Jonas’s smile widened a fraction. “The Duke is said by many to be the best swordsman in Siderea.”
The Duke’s eyed narrowed. He did not like to have his praises sung by the priest. “He has killed many men and not a few boys. The Duke believes in quantity as well as quality.”
“Be careful, priest,” Duke Leone said. “You may not always enjoy the King-Emperor’s protection.”
He turned on his heel and strode back towards his associates.
Jonas gave an apologetic shrug. “I really shouldn’t irritate the Duke but somehow, no matter my good intentions, I always end up doing so.”
“It seems like he would be an easy man to irritate,” said Kormak.
“Do not underestimate him, my friend. He is a deadly swordsman and quite clever when he reins in his temper.”
“Which is why you needle him,” Rhiana said.
“My transparency embarrasses me.”
As Jonas spoke a stately young woman emerged from the crowd to stand over him. “You are anything but transparent, Frater Jonas,” she said. “It is what makes you so appetising.”
She looked about eighteen with raven-black hair and a slender figure. Her skin was pale and her eyes were a striking blue. The calculation in them was ageless. A silver circlet encircled her forehead. Inscribed on it was the symbol of the crescent moon. Around her waist was a silver belt made of interlinked versions of the same symbols. On her fingers were many rings, all inlaid with runes of mystical significance. Her nails were long and painted with more patterns. Kormak knew that looking at them too long would hurt the eye.
“Lady Marketa, I am surprised and delighted that you have chosen to join us this evening,” Jonas said. “May I introduce Captain Rhiana, late of Port Blood, and Sir Kormak . . .”
“I know who Sir Kormak is,” Marketa said.
Her voice was low and thrilling and held a note of invitation. She gazed into Kormak’s eyes with an unblinking stare. Her red lips curved upwards into a smile. Rhiana’s grip tightened on Kormak’s arm.
“Sir Kormak,” Jonas continued. “A Guardian of the Order of the Dawn. May I present Lady Marketa, Ambassador to the King-Emperor from the Courts of the Moon.”
“I do not believe we have met before,” Kormak said.
“Let us say your fame precedes you,” Lady Marketa said.
“I did not know I was famous.”
“Your name has come up at the Silver Court.”
“You seem anxious to let me know that,” Kormak said.
“I have wanted to meet you for many years,” she said. “You’ve killed a number of my acquaintances.”
“Lady Marketa, now hardly seems like the time to bring up such matters,” said Frater Jonas. “This is a celebration, given by the King-Emperor, to mark the safe arrival of his fleet from Terra Nova.”
“I am quite aware of the circumstances, Frater Jonas. Rest assured I would do nothing to embarrass either of our lords and masters.”
She gave her provocative smile to them all and swept away. She did not need the two large armed men at her side to clear a path through the Siderean nobility. They stepped out of her way as if her touch was poisonous.
***
A single horn sounded. Silence swept across the room. King Aemon entered, garbed still in his simple monk’s robe. He smiled upon his subjects, made the sign of blessing with his right hand and began to descend the stair. His brother moved one pace behind, studying the crowd as if it might contain a threat.
The crowd parted to allow the King to