Jody Lynn Nye - Don't break the Chain

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2024-12-23 0 0 37.95KB 25 页 5.9玖币

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Don't Break the Chain!

Jody Lynn Nye

"Messages for you, my lady," the pink-cheeked page said, falling to

one knee beside her.

Lady Doretia reached eagerly for the scrolls. Eighteen years old, with a

curious mind underneath her black silk tresses, and a burning

intelligence looking out of her bright blue eyes, she was a voracious

reader and an avid correspondent. Luckily for her, most of her friends

were of the same bent, and the muddy roads that led between their

several fathers' fiefdoms were daily filled with pages carrying pages

from one of them to another. She popped the wax seal on the first.

Lady Zoraida was holding a masked ball at the end of the month. Oh,

good. That would give Doretia a chance to wear that strange gown that

Great-Grandmama had left her in the will that was open at the sides

and showed a daring hint of undergown. Lady Promese had dyed her

hair with henna, but the color had come out more purple than red and,

"of your courtesy, sister in arms, if you have knowledge of anything that

will reduce the color to a mere glow, I would be grateful unto death."

Doretia put the letter aside with a mental note to bring it up to the family

sorceror, an ancient man who lived in the tallest tower on the castle

walls, and who could be depended upon to keep Promese's mishap a

secret. Lady Goana's father was holding a tournament in the first week

of spring, and would she like to take part? Doretia certainly would. She

scribbled a note of thanks, and sealed it hastily.

The sixth missive she unrolled made Doretia frown. More chain mail.

How annoying. She had begged her friends not to involve her in any

more! She felt so guilty when she realized she would have to pass the

scroll on to another unsuspecting friend, or worse, copy it and send it

to several friends. She always thought about throwing chain letters into

the fire, even when the instructions promised dire magical

consequences. Of an enquiring turn of mind, Doretia wondered what

would really happen if she did destroy the letter, and decided her father

and six brothers would be irked if she managed to get killed by a mere

piece of paper, when they were doing their best to train her to be a

proper shield-maiden, so she could get killed in the field of battle

beside her future husband. Whoever he would be. Doretia had no

prospects as yet, though she dreamed of being wooed by the

handsomest warrior, who would shower her with jewels. She picked

up the note to put to one side when words on the page caught her eye.

"Please, fair lady, will you not bend all of your efforts unto the freedom

of an Unfortunate gentleman? It behooves you to pass along this

missive to assist him in gaining his liberty. Do not let the Missive fall to

Earth without sending Relief. I pray you, do not Break the chain, upon

your Honor. Send it Onward to the next brave lady of your

Acquaintance, but add Thy name to the list, so I may know whom to

Thank when I have my deliverance. All of these things are vital Unto

my Release. Of your Grace fair Lady do not fail!"

Such an entreaty made this an interesting nuisance, though, Doretia

thought, reading the words through again. Instead of the usual plea for

her to offer a prayer in the name of the first woman on the list (they

were always women) or to send a groat to a particular charity, this read

rather as if it had been written by a man, a gentleman, in fact, and in

extremis. She could almost hear the voice of the writer. It would be

deep, resonant, and very cultured. But was the peril true? Doretia had

heard of Urbano legends. Those were stories passed along from

person to person that were not true but so exciting and so near to the

edge of plausibility that one wanted to believe in them. They were

named for the Duke of Urbano, of the southern duchy of Bongiovi,

whose tall tales had been charted traveling almost all over the world.

Like all of her friends Doretia had shivered with delight hearing the

compelling stories, like the one about the old woman who came to the

door of a cottager woman who was in desperate need of help with her

child. The old woman coddled the babe all day while the mother

finished her work. The mysterious visitor stayed for dinner, then left. In

the morning the mother discovered the babe had been switched for a

changeling.

Everyone swore he or she knew someone who had known the person

on whose land the cottager actually lived, but Doretia wasn't satisfied

about the veracity of the story. Oh, it made good telling, but it was too

circular, too perfect. Out of curiosity she had personally sent out an

interesting legend de Urbano she had made up herself, about demons

that hid within the privy, and had the satisfaction of it coming back to

her no less than eight months later, during the Christmas celebration in

the Hall. Everyone also knew an Urbano legend about somebody who

had been cursed because he or she had failed to pass on a chain letter.

But what if this "piteous gentleman" wasn't real? Most likely he was the

brother of one of her correspondents' correspondents, prevailed upon

to write out a letter at his sister's dictation to give verisimilitude to a

heartbreaking story that would get them all talking.

Still, it was a chain letter, which carried with it the possibility of a curse.

But to whom could she send it? The list at the bottom of the fraying

parchment contained the list of nearly every friend Doretia had. Almost

with relief she saw that Lady Fomentia du Ryott, her best friend, hadn't

seen it yet. Doretia picked up her shaved quill and prepared to address

a wrapper to Fomentia. She stopped and chewed at the top end of the

pen. Should she? It was a temptation, to get it fairly out of the castle

and into the hands of someone who would appreciate it, but she hated

to promote these wretched things. The words at the top caught her eye

again.

" . . . Of your Grace fair Lady. . . ."

This wasn't at all like the other chain letters she had received over the

years.

Doretia stuffed it into the tapestry bag hanging among her bed curtains

with her other correspondence, but that didn't put it out of her mind.

She couldn't stop thinking about it. The plaintive tone of the missive

stayed with her through the day's sword practice, through

siege-breaking exercise, and through her cooking lesson, causing her to

burn a pastry case and collect a scolding from the castle cook. The

oddest thing was that the gentleman pleaded for help, but didn't give

her any directions for finding him.

Her six brothers laughed at her for lending any credence to a nonsense

letter. Doretia laughed along with them, but as soon as she was finished

with her education for the day she set out to find the sender. After

dinner she dispatched pages with urgent queries to all the ladies on the

list who were her acquaintances. All of them came back with puzzled

replies. They could be of no help. Well, best to go back to the earliest

person to pass it along. The first name on the list was Princess

Radamanta of Hermetica, the next kingdom west of her home realm of

Oligarch. Doretia had never been there, although her elder brothers

had. It was a wealthy nation, but rumored to be cruel. Perhaps there

really was a gentleman in distress. There was no harm in asking the

princess if she knew anything more about the letter she had sent on its

way.

Doretia's father had smiled gently upon his dreamer of a daughter, but

more importantly had given his permission for her to go on quest for the

gentleman in peril. She strapped on her new chainmail, with the lioness

worked into the breast, and the sunburst on the back of the coif in

bronze links, got her squire and a few of her friends together, and rode

westward toward Hermetica.

The journey felt more of a riding party than a serious enterprise. The fall

weather was very fine. At the manor house in the fiefdom that marched

beside Doretia's they picked up Lady Delia Catisson, who guided them

on a color tour while they rode through the western forests. It was so

nice Doretia was neaerly distracted from the object of her quest. The

friends caught up on gossip, laughing over their various romances,

travel, and hobbies. About two years before Zoraida had bought a

Junior Enchantress's kit. She was very keen on making progress as a

wizardess, and read their futures in the runes whether they wanted to

hear them or not.

"Here's yours, Dory," Zoraida said, holding up a handful of ivory

plaques in her small palm. "You will marry a mystery man."

"They're all mysterious," laughed Lady Goana FitzAnsarts, who was

wed to a burly redhaired northerner.

Doretia shook her head. "I'm not ready to fall in love," she said.

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Don'tBreaktheChain!JodyLynnNye"Messagesforyou,mylady,"thepink-cheekedpagesaid,fallingtoonekneebesideher.LadyDoretiareachedeagerlyforthescrolls.Eighteenyearsold,withacuriousmindunderneathherblacksilktresses,andaburningintelligencelookingoutofherbrightblueeyes,shewasavoraciousreaderandanavidcorrespond...

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Jody Lynn Nye - Don't break the Chain

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