Green, Sharon - Lady Blade, Lord Fighter

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Chapter 1
The snow and ice had degenerated to slush that wasn't re-freezing even after dark, but Timper still
disliked riding through it over the cobbles of the city. Oncoming spring had much more pleasant signs in
the south, ones which didn't make the streets slippery and unsafe even for a sure-footed mount, and the
young courier wished he was back there. Despite the heavy woolen cloak over his clothing he was cold,
but the dratted cold wasn't bad enough to distract him from his problems, only bad enough to be an
additional burden. His problems remained just as clear in his mind as they had been.
A part of which was having to plod up and down the streets of the northern city of Fyerlin, trying to find
the one he was supposed to deliver his message to. The torches on the heavy stone buildings he passed
laughed at him for his initial naivete in believing that that would be the simplest part of his commission,
merely needing the time to reach the lady at her aunt's house. Since the skirmishing had already resumed,
having no patience to await a proper spring and summer due to the presence of so many Sword
Companies, where else would the daughter of a Duke be found but safely beside her aunt? The Countess
herself had a strong, competent House Guard, well-armed and able to repel attempted incursions during
that time of war and unrest, so where else would her niece be but—
With one of those Sword Companies.
Timper sighed, overwhelmingly relieved that he would not need to be the one to tell that to the Duke.
After the death of the Duchess, the Duke had sent his eldest daughter to live
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with his sister-in-law, the Countess Illi of Fyerlin, intending to see his child raised with all the necessary
graces taught her, graces the ladies of his own house seemed unable to impart to her. The child had been
about eleven at the time, and the Countess was well known for her no-nonsense attitudes and iron
determination. The strong-willed child would be given no recourse save to obey her and learn the
womanly virtues. . . .
This time Timper shivered into his cloak, bewildered as to what might have gone wrong. The lady, now a
woman, was not to be found sitting demurely beside her aunt, a fact which Timper was prepared to swear
pleased the Countess! When he had politely requested an audience with the lady, he had been settled in a
chair, handed a glass of sherry, and then gently told that the lady wasn't there. If it was truly imperative
that he see her, her whereabouts might be gotten from the Company clerk of the Silver Gleaming, one of
the Sword Companies camped and billeted in and around Fyerlin. How she had gotten involved with one
of the Blades of a Sword Company no one seemed prepared to discuss, but Timper prayed he wasn't too
late. It was hardly likely that her virginity was still intact, not if she had been in the company of a Blade
for longer than five minutes, but that was the Duke's concern and the concern of the lady's future husband.
His was that he be spared the necessity of having to bring her home already married—or, worse yet,
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unmarried but pregnant. The Duke's temper was unlikely to register the fact that his courier was scarcely
apt to be the one responsible. . . .
The lady Sofaltis of the Duchy of Gensea, involved with a Blade of a Sword Company!
Trmper's shudder reached through to his mount, causing the patient, steady beast to raise its head in
momentary distraction. The gelding was hardly the sort of horse to grow skittish, for which Timper was
profoundly grateful. He was skittish enough for the two of them, especially after being sent by the
Company clerk to the barracks, and from the barracks to a house in the city itseif. His demanding the
whereabouts of the lady Sofaltis had gotten him no more than grinning silence, and he'd actually had to
pay those oversized mercenaries for what he needed to know: where the lady was, and nothing more. The
least they could have done was tell
LADY BLADE, LORD FIGHTER 7
him which of the Blades she was involved with, of high rank or low, so that he would have some idea of
the amount of difficulty he would face when the man found he was to lose the lady's company. Possibly
he should have hired his return escort before continuing his search, but mercenaries were so unreasonably
expensive, and he had no idea how long it would take the lady to have her gowns and possessions packed.
Timper sighed again as he automatically counted streets, then guided his horse right into one whose name
post was conspicuously absent. It was the third or fourth he'd passed that had been rendered anonymous in
just that way, the expected fruits of having carousing mercenaries rollicking through a city. Duke Rilfe
would never have allowed that to happen in their city, but what else was to be expected of those of the
north? Even the nobility there seemed touched with the same tainted outlook, looseness of morals, little or
no sense of duty, a scandalous lack of piety—why, when he'd asked the Countess if he might have a
moment or two with her house priest for the easing of his soul, she'd actually informed him that her house
had only a priest of Evon, no priest of Grail! The courier was sure he'd successfully hidden his shock at
that, but the Countess hadn't been equally successful at masking her unexplained amusement.
There, almost exactly mid-block on the left, was certainly the house he'd been directed to look for!
Timper took in the three torches burning calmly on the front of the large, setback, freely-standing house,
the modest metal spear-fence that stood invitingly open, the demurely draped windows that nevertheless
showed a hint of lamplight behind them, and guided his mount through the fence and toward the high-
pillared front door. He still had no idea whose house he was about to peremptorily enter, but that made
little difference to him. He was a courier, empowered to enter anywhere and everywhere to deliver his
message, and that would be known to whomever resided in that house. If he hadn't been so cold he would
have straightened his shoulders and raised his chin, but gestures like that would have to wait until he was
indoors and warm again.
As he drew rein and began to dismount in front of the wide steps of the residence, the front door opened
unexpectedly
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8 Sharon Green
and a boy emerged, muffled to the ears and wearing a woolen cap which couldn't have offset the thinness
of his threadbare coat and trousers. The boy pulled the door shut behind him, hurried recklessly down the
slippery-looking steps into the torchlit night, then put a thin hand on Timper's bridle.
"I'll see to him for you, sir," the boy said in a voice that cracked more from the cold than his age, bobbing
where he stood in a parody of proper bowing. "You go right on in to where it's warm, an' I'll put him in
the sheds behind."
Timper nodded and surrendered his mount without demur-ral, pleasantly surprised to see that the
amenities weren't entirely lost to those of the north, then climbed the steps toward the front door. Behind
him the boy had hesitated very briefly before leading his horse away, just as though he had expected
something more from Timper than a nod, but he couldn't imagine what that might be. Residences in the
south always had a boy to see to one's horse, and they never expected more than a nod. After all, was he
expected to give stabiing directions for what would be a visit of no more than a few minutes at the most?
The door opened again as Timper reached it, this time wide enough to let him enter. The entrance hall was
lamplit and warm, especially when the servingman closed the door behind him, then turned to give him a
far more proper bow.
"Allow me to take your ctoak, sir," the man offered, already reaching for the garment in question. He was
dressed in striped silk with knee hose and buckled shoes, but the scrupulously correct tailoring usually
worn by servants of the upper class failed to hide his outrageously large size. One normally chose
servants of lesser proportions for one's household, Timper knew, to keep one's guests from needing to
look upward in so uncomfortable a manner, but he was hardly there to school those of the north in
common courtesy. His commission was far more important than that, and he was anxious to get on with it.
"I shan't be staying long enough for that," Timper denied with a wave of his hand, looking around at the
polished-wood paneling of the entrance hall and the closed doors that led from it to the house proper. "I
am a courier of the Duke Rilfe of the House of Kienne in the Duchy of Gensea, and have
LADY BLADE, LORD FIGHTER 9
been told that the lady Sofaltis of the same House might be found here. I must insist that I be taken to her
at opce."
"I do beg your pardon, sir, but I'm afraid that that would be a matter best discussed with my mistress," the
man replied, withdrawing his hands with a small, odd smile curving his lips. "Til have someone take you
to her."
"Gad, man, have you no ears?" Timper snapped, long since out of patience with the numberless
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obstructions he'd found in his path. "I have no wish to see your mistress, I wish to see ..."
His words ended in near-outrage as the servant dared to turn his back and take up a small hammer lying in
front of a set of crystal bells, and then purposefully strike one of the bells. The pure crystal tone was
sweet and considerably more penetrating than Timper would have expected, and the first door to the right
opened outward to show another servant like the first, properly dressed but hardly properly-sized.
"This gentleman is here in search of a particular lady," the first servant said to the second, his tone
entirely uninflected. "He will, of course, need to speak to the mistress."
"Of course," the second agreed, eyeing Timper's continued possession of a cloak but refraining from
commenting on the fact. "If you will be so kind as to follow me, sir?"
Very briefly Timper toyed with the idea of refusing while demanding again to be taken to the lady, and
had the servants been of more usual proportions he might very well have done so. After a moment,
however, it came to him that these were, after all, no more than ignorant servants, and the wisest course of
action might well be allowing them to lead him to their mistress. With that in view he strode through the
door being held open for him voicing no more than a short sound of impatience, waited until the servant
closed the door again and moved ahead, then followed wordlessly after.
Moving through the doorway had put him in a hall both narrower and longer than the entrance hall, but
one whose floor was richly carpeted and whose paneled walls were hung with paintings of obviously
great worth. It seemed to Timper as he walked along that the house was the residence of someone of
substantial affluence, but it wasn't quite as silent as a residence of that sort should be. Somewhere, a
distance off, was what seemed like the sound of roistering voices, but
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perhaps it wasn't coming from that house. Perhaps those who lived in the house were forced to endure
coarse and common but monied neighbors, and if that were so ...
"This way, sir, if you please," the servant interrupted his thoughts, stopping in front of a door to the right
perhaps halfway down the hall. A brief knock and then the servant entered, halting just inside to bow to
someone Timper was unable to make out beyond the man's bulk. "Your pardon, madam, but this
gentleman informs us that he has come in search of a specific lady. Will you see him?" " —
"Of course I will," came one of the sweetest, softest voices Timper had ever heard, immediately making
him wish he might see the face thai went with it. "Do show him in, Rinson."
"Sir," the servant Rinson said, stepping aside with another bow, one Timper was barely aware of. The
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servant's movement had brought to view sight of his mistress, and if anything the look of her was superior
to the sound of her voice. The young courier had never imagined that any woman so clearly older than
himself might touch him so quickly and strongly, and if he hadn't been in the midst of a commission he
would likely have stood there frozen duuib. Night-black hair and shining black eyes, skin the color of
faintly blushing cream, full red lips with a devastating smile, all above a richly gowned body of slim
elegance and grace. She was seated behind a delicate desk of lace-like carving, obviously a woman of
responsibility as well as beauty, and he realized he'd stepped well into the room only when he heard the
sound of the door closing somewhere behind him.
"And how may I help you, sir?" the vision asked, smiling at him encouragingly as she straightened in her
chair. "Would you care to describe the sort of lady you seek, or would you prefer looking about before
voicing1 your thoughts? Do you seek someone of your own age, or might it possibly be someone
more—experienced—that you search for? It would be my greatest pleasure to—assist you in any manner
possible."
Her lovely voice had softened and she had leaned forward, her red lips glistening in a way that had
Timper completely convinced regarding her sincerity. His gaze had somehow become riveted to her full,
heaving bosom, a bosom less
LADY BLADE, LORD FIGHTER
11
well-covered than perhaps she realized, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he brought his eyes to
her face again.
"Madam, I—" he began, then paused to bring his voice down from the higher ranges where it had
embarrassingly strayed. "Madam, I thank you for your offer of-assistance, and shall most willingly accept
it," he said on his second attempt, striving to project a maturity of his own. "I am the courier of Duke
Rilfe of Gensea, and have come seeking the lady Sofaltis of Gensea, daughter of the Duke, for whom I
have a most urgent communication. I've been told I would find her here in this house, and although 1 have
never seen her, she was described to me as being perhaps a year my junior, delicately pretty with
unusually lovely gray eyes, brown-haired and lithe ..."
"Wait just a minute here!" the woman interrupted in sudden annoyance, no longer appearing quite as
winsome as she had a moment earlier. "Are you saying you're here looking for someone, an actual, real
someone? You have a message to deliver?"
"Hardly so simple a thing as a message," Timper responded, stung by the change in the beautiful woman's
attitude. "A ducal courier is not a mere message bearer, the responsibilities of the position are a good deal
more complex than . . ."
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"But you don't deny you're here looking to talk to someone," the woman insisted, nearly in accusation.
"And not for the usual reason. Well, I'm afraid I can't help you. I've never heard of this—lady, and doubt
that she's ever been here. I wish you a pleasant evening—elsewhere."
The lovely woman had risen to her feet behind the desk, her expression now closed and cold, and Timper
found himself almost completely at a loss. Not only had he no desire to leave, he could not leave before
learning for certain that the lady Sofaltis wasn't there. Firm insistence had often gotten him what
information and assistance he required, and just then he knew he needed to try something of the same
again.
"Madam, I must beg your indulgence for a few moments more," he said at once with more desperation
than assertive-ness, not precisely the attitude he'd been attempting but one that would have to do. "I've
been informed that the lady Sofaltis is here, in company with members of the Silver
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Gleaming, whose presence, if fact, could scarcely be missed. Their purpose in coming here was kept from
me, in a deliberate attempt at vindictiveness, 1 believe, yet was I specifically
told . . ."
"The Silver Gleaming?" the woman interrupted, a faint, very attractive frown suddenly shadowing her
face, "Of course there are members of the Silver Gleaming here. We happen to be very popular with the
Blades because of the balanced variety our house offers, just as we're popular with the other Sword
Companies. 1 happened to see a few Fists arriving, but there were no—ladies—with them."
The woman pronounced the word "ladies" as though it were nearly off-color and entirely loathsome, an
attitude Timper couldn't quite understand. Not that he was able to understand most of the rest of what he'd
been told. The north, it seemed, was far more different from the south than he'd imagined.
"What are Fists?" he asked almost warily, wondering if he would next be able to ask about the "balanced
variety" the woman had also mentioned. He wasn't quite sure, but somehow he had the distinct impression
the concept of variety was one he ought to be familiar with.
"Fists are special units of Sword Companies," the vision answered, staring at him in an odd manner as she
reseated herself. "The units consist of five Blades, usually the best Blades the Company has, and in battle
they carry out initial or crucial thrusts. Where did you say you come from?"
"A gentleman scarcely has the time to investigate every unimportant facet of such things as Sword
Companies." Timper returned stiffly, this time stung into trying to defend himself. He could also feel the
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flush in his cheeks, and nearly began shifting in place like an ignorant child caught by his tutor. "Are you
absolutely certain there were no women with those—Fists?"
"I said there were no ladies with the Fists," the woman corrected, her face smooth and serene despite the
twinkle of amusement in her eyes, her hands holding lightly to the arms of her chair. "Ladies do badly as
members of a Fist, but female Blades are another story entirely. Most Companies have their share of
females, and although the majority of Fists are all male, one or two have ..."
Her voice trailed off as she stared at Timper again, but this
LADY BLADE, LORD FIGHTER
13
time he could see she stared thoughtfully. Something had obviously occurred to her, and her next words
proved the point.
"Brown-haired and gray-eyed, lithe and young," the woman murmured, as though hearing the description
for the very first time. "And named Sofaltis! It's just barely possible, I suppose, stranger things have
happened— If it is true, I'd love to be there. . . ."
The woman's eyes lost their distracted look as they sharpened on Timper again with renewed amusement,
and then she grew somewhat more brisk.
"It's possible one of the Blades of the Silver Gleaming will be able to-direct you to this lady of yours," she
said, reaching for a small, delicate bell which stood at the comer of the desk to her right. "I'll have
someone take you to them, but I warn you now; if you cause any sort of ruckus among any of the guests,
the mistress' rules will see you put out of the house at once, whether or not you've managed to question
anyone. Have I made myself clear?"
"But—I thought you were the mistress of this house," Timper blurted, now entirely at a loss. "Those
servants— they said—and they brought me here to this room—"
' "They thought you were looking for special attention from someone with standing," the woman
answered as she rang the bell, this time unable to keep the smile from her face. "There are three of us who
spare the mistress that sort of—wearying interview, four when business gets unusually brisk. You would
be surprised how many nobles and upper class merchants insist on dealing with no one but— Ah,
Rinson."
The servant who had led Timper to that room appeared even before the crystal voice of the bell died
away, giving the young courier no further opportunity for asking questions. Timper felt bewildered and
because of that was extremely annoyed, but the presence of the very large servant helped him keep firmly
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in mind the tenet that no true gentleman was ever rude to a woman.
"Rinson, please show this gentleman to the area of the house where the Blades of the Silver Gleaming are
taking their ease," the woman directed, her tone entirely neutral. "Specifically, I would say, the Fist of
Soft and Gentle. Are you acquainted with the Blades of that Fist?"
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"Of course, Madam," the servant said, his bow tinged more with curiosity than propriety. "If you will
follow me, sir?"
Timper had very little choice concerning the following, but his annoyance was growing in leaps and
bounds, and he was beginning to regret not having surrendered his cloak when he might have. Not only
had the house grown extremely warm, but the output of anger was adding itself to the discomfort of wool.
What in Home's name might the Fist of Soft and Gentle be? Hardly the general name of something called
a Fist, but just as unlikely a sobriquet for a Blade of a Fist. The young man stomped out of the room at the
servant's gesture, deliberately refraining from bowing to the woman whose company he departed. Lovely
she might be, but her loveliness had diminished quickly with the increase of her amusement.
This time the servant led the way to the very end of the narrow hall, and the door there gave access to an
even smaller and narrower backstairs area that was rather dim. As soon as they had entered the dimness,
however, the sound of voices that Timper had noticed earlier became a good deal more imposing on the
former quiet. He followed the servant through the dimness to the left, wondering what could possibly be
causing such a row, and then another door was opened that answered his question as soon as he had
stepped through it into the room beyond.
"Holy Emissaries intercede for my soul!" Timper prayed silently but fervently as he fought to keep the
shock off his face, his eyes seeking something innocuous to rest on. The only trouble was, there was
nothing innocuous to look at, at least not in that well-lit room. Men dressed in the off-duty leathers of
Blades lolled everywhere on the thick carpeting, many of them leaning elbows on cushions as they drank
from goblets or shouted in encouragement and high amusement. The many—females—with them either
had hands on them or were being themselves explored, their scantily clad bodies proving easily
accessible, and in the midst of all that there was a—a—dance of sorts being performed. The pretty young
thing standing alone in the middle of the floor was still clad in a proper gown, but even as Timper
watched she acceded to the shouting around her with a sob, and began slowly removing the gown. Tears
ran down her blushing cheeks as sight of
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her delicate underclothing was brutally forced from proper privacy into the public domain, but all she
received in the way of compassion from those who watched was an increase in their laughter. Had Timper
not been certain the girl was a slave he would have interfered no matter the consequences, but a man
would be foolish to concern himself with the distress of a newly-made chain child, mostly especially in
what he now knew that place to be. He had never before visited one himself, but he had heard stories of
such places; oh, my, he certainly had.
"This way, sir," the servant Rinson said to a hopefully unobtrusively appalled Timper, and the courier was
quick to follow across the floor behind the stiffly moving, softly sobbing girl. He made every effort to
keep his eyes on the servant rather than looking again at the slave, and strove to move as rapidly as
possible without giving the appearance of hurrying. A true gentleman never looked at the unclad body of
any female, not even his wife, unless he received special dispensation from the Holy Emissaries in
acknowledgment of his proven piety. He was then permitted to look upon the woman he took to wife, but
certainly not any other. When he admitted to his Holy Council in Strict Truth that he had abrogated a
privilege which wasn't his, there would, without the least doubt, be absolute hell to pay.
An arch gave access to another room like the first, only this one had a small, dark beauty in transparent
veils moving sensuously to the sound of a pipe. Her wide, beautiful eyes moved from one watching,
grinning Blade to the next, the smile visible on her full, pouting lips beneath her face-veil an almost-
shouted invitation, and Timper found it best to remove his cloak as he passed her, something that helped
to keep her from his sight. Everyone knew that Blades of a Sword Company were eternally damned
anyway and therefore often indulged in things that made a sensible man tremble and turn away, but
possibly no one had told the Blades they were lost. For people who were inescapably heading for eternal
damnation, Timper thought they appeared unexpectedly satisfied and unworried.
The courier had his cloak thrown over his left arm by the time he moved through the next arch, which
happily gave him something to clutch when he abruptly understood what
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he was seeing. Blades still lounged in their leathers on the carpeting, but most of these Blades were
female and the ones attending them in oiled tights were male. If a woman was of the nobility a man
certainly did well to bow low in her presence, but to kneel in front of a common rag, nearly naked and
obscenely exposed despite a supposed covering—! Timper had never felt so outraged in his entire life,
even if the men were nothing but slaves! Good taste demanded restraint in some quarter, and for a man'to
be made to exhibit himself like that, slave or no, was absolutely unacceptable. Why, he had half a mind
to—
"I believe the Fists of the Silver Gleaming are to be found in the next area, sir," the servant Rinson
interrupted TJmper's silent expostulation, at the same time reminding him of the warning he had been
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given. If he were going to execute his commission he needed to restrain his perfectly proper indignation,
at least for a short while. After he had gotten what answers were to be had, he would certainly speak his
mind and then dare them to do their worst. He strode after the servant without looking again on depravity,
knowing without doubt that one who was Saved had nothing to fear from those who were damned.
Which high-minded attitude took him through the arch and into the next room, but not beyond the first
two steps. Once again the majority of Blades were male and their attendants female, but three female
Blades sat among them, no two of the women together, half a dozen male attendants also rather visible.
Laughter came from many of the Blades, squealing arising from one of the attending females being held
down out of sight by four of the men, but none of that was what struck Timper speechless. The sight that
froze him was of three of the male attendants, all lined up and posturing in front of one of the female
Blades, arms flexing muscle, chests inflated and hips rolling suggestively—
But the rag wasn't even watching! Men were trying to catch the attention of a female, and she wasn't even
paying attention!
Timper closed his eyes for a moment and fought to contain his outrage, memory of his commission alone
making it possible for him to do so. Females forcing males to grovel and demean themselves was bad
enough, but for the female
LADY BLADE, LORD FIGHTER
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to then turn around and ignore them—! Such arrogance was intolerable, and completely unacceptable to a
gentleman of Timper's station; he would ask his questions and then resoundingly denounce the rag, and
yes, the men with her as well. If she had never been taught better, they certainly should have been. The
servant Rinson was moving forward, toward the very group Timper meant to confront, and once he had
followed and gotten near enough, their words separated from the background din.
". . . could have had our backsides sliced if we hadn't withdrawn when we did," one of the men was
saying to another, the speaker a big man with black hair and light eyes who sat to the right of the female
Blade. "If Seepar thinks he'll be riding back for us again, he's suffering from the effects of too long a time
substituting other things for girls."
"I heard he did the same to one of the Fists of the Crimson Rush just before first snow," the female Blade
remarked, the disgust in her voice evident even in the midst of the surrounding noise. "If the Opened
Throats Company wants his so-called Fist, they're more than welcome to it, but we'll have to insist on
saying our good-byes now—to the Blades he'll supposedly be supporting."
"He's really that bad then," the man who had been spoken to said, sighing where he sat at the first man's
right. He was also large with longish, dark hair, but his eyes were dark rather than light. "After the losses
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file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Sharon%20Green%20-%20Lady%20Bl\ade,%20Lord%20Fighter.htmChapter1Thesnowandicehaddegeneratedtoslushthatwasn'tre-freezingevena\fterdark,butTimperstilldislikedridingthroughitoverthecobblesofthecity.Oncomingspring\hadmuchmorepleasantsignsinthesouth,oneswhichdidn...

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