Madrigal-Chapter 14
For Jen and Steve
May your love story always be a fairytale,
May you live happily ever after.
***
With Gregory, Grissom worked into the night. He was bone weary; he had not slept the night before and knew he would have time this night for only an hour or two. He was loathe to take even that time away from his preparations, but he knew without some rest his fatigue would overwhelm him and all could be lost.
The Captain had spent an hour or more with him, alternating between lauding him for the ingenuity of the plan and berating him for attempting the more dangerous aspects of it. At length though, the man had agreed to his part and begrudgingly admitted a desire to learn certain formulas from the mage that would be helpful to him in later warfare. Then, after a hearty hug to his friend and a solemn arm clasp with the much surprised Gregory, Captain James had taken his leave, with the promise to meet them both on the field before dawn.
Grissom sighed to himself. All would be decided within the next hours; before midday of the morrow he would either have his lady and love to wife or he would be dead. Such a small space of time to determine so very much.
Finally he decided he could stand the smell of the compounds and mixtures no longer and that sleep, even for but a few hours, was an absolute necessity. He was ready to send Gregory to rest when the noise of a step on the stairs caused them both to look up, startled and, at least in the case of the mage, hopeful. Surely Lady Sara would not risk coming to the tower tonight? But, oh, that she would!
His visitor, though, was far more surprising than the Lady Sara.
Standing, he and Gregory bowed, nearly in unison. “Your majesty.”
The Queen nodded to Grissom, but sent a charming and lovely smile to the younger. “Gregory, would you give me a moment with your master?”
“Of course, my Queen.” The young man gave a deep and surprisingly elegant bow.
As his helper exited the room, the mage called, “Wait at the bottom of the stair, Gregory, that you may see the Queen safely to her chambers. Then you may find your own bed.”
“Aye, m’lord,” was thrown over the young man’s shoulder and the mage and Queen listened to his step, retreating down the stairs.
They stood for a moment, simply looking at each other solemnly in the dim light of the torches and the fire. Then, the Queen gave a half smile. “You look as though I was not whom you expected.”
He rubbed his red, burning eyes absently. “I expected no one. I was surprised at any visitor to the tower.”
She gave a slight laugh, shaking her head. “Perhaps you had no expectations, but I do think you may have hoped for another.” Gracefully, she seated herself on one of the benches, carefully draping the skirt of her surcoat around her. “The Lady Sara is under watch; the King felt that honor demanded it. Though, of course, I doubt she could have twitched a finger this night without coming under someone’s eye.”
He inclined his head. While he was not thrilled she was under watch, at least he knew if Lord Vincent had thought to exact revenge by harming the lady, she was guarded. “She asked you to come?”
The Queen shook her head. “Nay. Though I did tell her of my plans and she sent this to you.”
She extended a piece of parchment and he took it from her hand. The parchment carried the light lavender scent he associated with Lady Sara and the unevenly distributed wax told him the note had been hastily sealed.
Knowingly, the Queen smiled. “I will leave you to her words anon. I desire but a moment of your time.”
He attempted to keep his face impassive but felt himself flush slightly as he nodded.
The Queen studied him appraisingly for a moment before speaking. “Why did you challenge Lord Vincent?”
He had not expected anything so direct and found himself struggling to find a proper answer. “I believe…” He stopped and gathered his wits. “There was…” Frowning, he clenched his fist. “He had…”
Shaking her head, she waved a hand impatiently. “Do not try to find pretty words nor attempt to shield me from what you believe to be true. Woman I may be, but a fool I am not.”
He could not help the smile that touched his lips at her words. Because the King was such a large, looming presence, many forgot the Queen was a force to be reckoned with all on her own. “Any man who treated you as such would himself be a fool, majesty.”
She snorted, inelegantly. “You are a wise man to know that, m’lord. Most men see a woman and do not see heart and mind, but only a possession to be grasped or a body to be conquered.”
Nodding his head, Grissom replied. “It pains me, but I fear you are right, majesty.” He exhaled noisily. “I believe Lord Vincent is more such a man than most.”
“You truly believe he murdered his wife?” She smoothed a hand idly over her purple surcoat and he noticed for the first time it was from the silk he had gifted her.
“I do, majesty. There was a witness and even were there not, every instinct I possess, every bit of knowledge I have of the inner workings of men’s minds tells me he not only killed her, but his nephew, as well.” He shrugged. “Whether they were lovers, I know not. But even if they were, he is responsible for their deaths and must be brought to pay under the King’s law.”
She cocked a brow at him. “And you would be judge and executioner, m’lord?”
“Nay, my Queen.” He spread his hands in an expansive gesture. “I do not seek to kill the man; I strive to win our engagement without taking his life or losing mine. I seek only to defeat and dishonor, not to murder.”
“To what end, m’lord? Were he betrothed to another lady, would you be so keen to fight?” She raised her hand when he would have spoken. “If you would, I think I would rather not know it. I would believe that you love the Lady Sara with your whole heart.”
“I do, I swear it.” He closed his eyes, shaking his head. “I would not pretend that had it been any other lady set to marry the man, I would have looked at him with as critical of an eye nor investigated him as thoroughly. But I would like to think, even if he were to wed someone I did not love, I would still have sought to bring him to justice.” He sighed. “But, yes, that exposing him or defeating him will prevent him from marrying Lady Sara, that is where my heart lay.”
This time, it was the Queen who shook her head. “Why did you not offer for her before the match was made? I would have stood with you to convince the King.”
The corners of his mouth lifted in an ironic, but beautiful smile. “Because I am a fool?”
She laughed outright. “Indeed, Lord Fool.” Her eyes traveled round the room at the pots, bowls, vials, braziers, casks. “You have weapons?”
“I will use the weapons of my art, my lady.”
“What if that is not enough? Lord Vincent is known to be fierce on the field.” She looked both exasperated and worried.
Again, Grissom smiled. “He will never have faced such as this.”
“Still…” The Queen sighed and reaching into her belt, she slid out a knife and extended it to him. It was small and cunning, the blade viciously sharp. “I would that you carry this. In my name, for my sake.”
Carefully he accepted the weapon. “I thank you, majesty.”
With regal bearing that came from more than her title, the Queen rose. “You may thank me by defeating the man. I would that my niece has the love and happiness never afforded to my sister.” Briefly, she touched his hand. “Rest well tonight. Fight well on the morrow.”
He bowed deeply as she slipped from the room.
He waited for her footsteps to fade before he broke the seal on the parchment, carefully unfolding it as though it was a part of her and he could yet woo and caress her through the thin paper.
My lord…
The Captain of the Guard spoke with me this evening and has told me why you chose this course. He believes you to be both inspired and mad.
Though I must fear for your life, I trust in your knowledge and skills.
No matter the outcome, my whole heart is yours, everyday of my life.
All of my love,
Sara
Smiling, he read the note again, and then he tucked it within his tunic, over his heart, and went into his sleeping chamber. His bed still smelled of Lady Sara and the lingering musk of their time together. Inhaling deeply, he slept.
As if the sun were reluctant to leave her bed, dawn was slow to come. Yet, when the sky had begun to lighten, the still figure of the mage could be seen standing with his staff, unmoving on the field. None, even those that had been at the field during the night, could say when he had arrived. Sometime before dawn, he had slipped between the pools of light from the fires that ringed the field and positioned himself so that as the sun revealed itself, he was revealed as well.
The mists hung low over the tournament field in the first grey light of the early morn as crowds slowly gathered and the mage stood, silent.
The men of the garrison and some of the villagers had cut the field in preparation for the faire. Jousting was a favorite event amongst the crowds and the mêlée was good training for war in times of peace. The King was more than willing to let the men of the garrison show their skills at every opportunity. But the field had not seen so earnest and important a contest since it had first been marked off when the King had come to the throne over twenty years before.
The people, those from the village and the castle, hummed with the excitement of the contest, but the mage continued to stand still and silent.
After the sun crested the horizon, the hammer of hooves and the jangle of armor could be heard approaching. Lord Vincent and four of his men road into view, the Lord’s standard snapping in the morning air. While his men wore mail, the Lord wore full battle armor, polished and shining in the morning light. Vincent rode to the end of the field and stayed atop his horse, while his men rode to the side and dismounted.
Lord Vincent raised the visor on his helmet. “What manner of trickery is this, mage?”
Grissom continued to lean on his staff. “There is no trickery, my lord. I am here, not ether nor spirit, just a man prepared to fight.”
“I will not be dishonored by deception nor will I be made fool of by magician’s tricks.” The armored man’s voice was a menacing snarl, filled with vitriol. “Where is your horse? Your armor? Your weapons?”
“My horse is still stabled and I have no doubt he is quite put out that I have not appeared with his morning apple.” There was a titter from the assembled crowd. “As for armor, I have none. And my weapons have been provided to me by nature and my fellows’ work in the natural philosophies.” He shrugged. “And I have a small knife.” He pointed to the fires along the perimeter of the field. “Fire and charcoal, saltpetre and sulfur, all gifts of the earth. That is all I need to defeat you, m’lord.”
Lord Vincent’s horse stamped and snorted, causing bridle and armor to ring out. The man atop the horse clenched his teeth, but spoke not as the royal party approached the field. The assembly murmured as the King and Queen, along with a pale Lady Sara, took to the raised platform that flew the King’s colors.
The King saw the Queen seated, then drew to the edge of the platform. He looked at Grissom much as if he doubted his sanity, but then made an impassive mask of his face. “My lords, are you prepared to fight?”
Lord Vincent’s voice rang out, each word a bite on the air. “To the death.”
“For honor, my liege. For justice for the Lady Deborah.” Grissom bowed to the dais. “And the hand of the Lady Sara.”
The last set up a flurry of voices from within the crowd and brought forth a cry of anger from Lord Vincent.
The King nodded. “Prepare yourselves then.”
The lord circled his horse and one of his men stepped forward to hand him his lance and he positioned himself at his end of the field once again. “I will slit you open and spill your entrails on this ground, Grissom. And I hope that your spirit delays its departure from this earth long enough to see me take the Lady Sara to my bed as my wife.”
“My lord, cease your useless talking.” The mage spread his arms wide. “Come meet your end.”
The lord slammed his visor into place and spurred his horse into a gallop. Grissom stood his ground with horse and rider bearing down on him, clumps of grass and dirt flying up from the horse hooves. At the last possible moment, he feinted right, diving to the ground. The horse thundered by.
By the time Lord Vincent had slowed the horse and turned the beast for another drive, the mage was standing where he had been before. The lord urged his horse forward, obviously preparing for another dodge from Grissom. Leaning over the horse’s neck, he drove on, holding tightly to the lance, ready to guide the horse in whichever direct the mage shifted. Horse and rider were upon him when, instead of feinting and diving for the side, he took two steps to the right, extending his staff to meet the lance and a cry of alarm rose up from the spectators.
The crack of wood on wood sounded like thunder in a summer storm and the concussion ran all the way up the mage’s arm, causing his teeth to rattle and his jaw to ache. Still, when he looked he was gratified to see not only had his staff split with the impact, so had Lord Vincent’s lance, the greater part of it lying, splintered, on the ground.
The lord did not reach the end of the field before circling around. He studied the broken lance in his hand for a moment, then threw it to the ground in disgust and drew his broadsword from its sheath, pushing his horse back towards Grissom.
The mage, arm tense and throbbing from the impact of staff and lance, staggered towards the fire furthest from the assemblage as the galloping horse and enraged rider approached. Reaching into his robe he withdrew several items that looked to be balls of black wax and threw them into the fire, backing quickly away, covering his head with his arms just as the fire exploded outward in a booming blast, raining sparks and flaming pieces of wood over the field.
Lord Vincent’s horse reared high and the man fought to stay seated, but another, smaller, blast caused the horse to rise further and the lord to fall to the ground with a great crashing thud. The horse, wild eyed and terrified, ran from the field, but the rider did not move.
Shouts arose from the small group of Lord Vincent’s men as they drew weapons and appeared ready to take the field, only to find themselves suddenly surrounded by the swords of the Captain of the Guard and several of the men from the garrison.
Grissom, face blackened with soot and sweating, limped to the center of the field, never taking his eyes from the now dirty and dented armor in front of him. Breath heaving, he watched as the man, at last, sat up.
Reaching for a still flaming piece of wood scattered onto the field by the explosion, the mage called out. “Are you hurt, Lord Vincent? Do you concede defeat?”
Vincent removed his helmet and threw it aside with a decisive clank. “As long as I breathe there is no defeat in me, m’lord mage. I will claim my victory; I always do.”
“And how did the slitting Lady Deborah’s throat and the throat of your nephew afford you victory, my lord?”
“I am here and they are not.” He struggled to his feet. “Therefore, I am victorious. Just as I will be victorious when you lie dead upon this field.”
Again, Grissom spread his arms wide, still holding the flaming wood. “Come then; claim your victory.”
The mage watched carefully as the man staggered towards him, his eyes close to the ground, watching the heavy steps of his rival. When he was but fifteen feet from him, Grissom, smiling, touched the fire in his hand to the ground and a flame sparked, ignited and ran out from both directions to form a circle of fire around them.
Exclamations of fear and awe arose from the crowd as the flames danced around the men.
“Sorcerers tricks,” the lord spat.
Grissom shook his head. “I was given the formula by a mage from the Far East. Tis not magic, but warfare, my lord.”
Baring his teeth in a frightful smile, Lord Vincent nodded. “Warfare I know.” He threw himself at the mage and both of them tumbled to the ground.
The initial shock of the weight of the fully armored man pinning him passed and Grissom attempted to breathe. The wind had been knocked from him when Lord Vincent landed on him and the mass of man and armor now pressing on his chest made it near impossible to catch his breath. The smoke that hung in the air from the explosions and the fire surrounding them seemed intent on robbing him of air, as well.
He attempted to push the armored man off but the combined weight of man and metal was too much in his winded state. After a bit, he was able to roll slightly and was nearly able to unseat the lord, when the man gave a roar of rage and wrestled him back down, pinning him in place with the weight of his legs.
“Grissom!” The cry came from outside the circle of fire, but he recognized the voice, heard the pain and panic in the call of his name by his love.
Again, he tried to breathe and was able to bring some air into his lungs, but then the armored man was pummeling his arms and sides as he kept him pinned. The mage gasped out the little bit of air he had been able to inhale, wincing at the pain of the other man’s blows.
“Grissom!” It was a shriek of agony and despair, such that he had never heard. He wondered for a moment who had hurt her and how he could get to her to protect her. Then he understood…she was crying out at his own pain. And as he would have done anything to save her from any wound, he understood he must save her from this pain as well.
Summoning every bit of will and strength, thinking only of Sara, he gasped in a breath and pushed against the heavy weight of Lord Vincent and his armor. He knew well the armor would work against the lord if Grissom could get the smallest amount of leverage or momentum.
Fortune, so often fickle, chose that moment to smile upon the mage. As his opponent raised his arms to deliver another blow when the mage pushed with all of his might and Grissom was able to roll him relatively easily. Finally able to breathe, he centered his weight on the struggling mass of metal beneath him and pinned the man’s arms with his knees.
Reaching into his cloak he brought forth the knife the Queen had given him, laying the wicked point against the throat of the suddenly still man beneath him. Still wheezing from having the air knocked from him, the mage panted, “Will you surrender?”
Lord Vincent sneered. “Trying to keep your hands free of blood, my lord mage? There is honor in the kill as well.”
Chest heaving, knife still at the lord’s neck, Grissom shook his head. “Not for me.” Again, his hand disappeared within the folds of his robe. “Again, I ask, will you surrender?”
“Nay, I will not.” He shook his head, causing the point of the knife to pierce the skin shallowly and a drop of blood, redder than rubies, beaded on the skin of his neck. “You will have to kill me. Your hands can not remain clean forever. Slit my throat.”
“As you slit your wife’s?” His voice was coolly inquiring.
“I gave her all! Treated her as a princess, gave her all she could have asked for.” Vincent’s words dripped bitterness. “But she besmirched it all and spread herself for that young whelp. I would not let my honor, my good name be sullied by that harlot that posed as my wife.” His nostrils flared as his hot breath blew out. “Will you kill me now, mage?”
The circle of fire around them had burned low, leaving mainly burned and blackened grass, with only the occasional flame still dancing. The crowd was silent, nearly still as they watched the life and death play on the field.
The mage opened his hand to reveal a long, thin piece of metal. “See you this?”
“A sewing needle?” Lord Vincent scoffed.
“Nay. Well, a needle of sorts, but not for sewing.” He held the metal by the dull end and examined the sharp point with keen interest, never moving the knife in his other hand from the man’s neck. “Twas a gift from a scholar of India. He had acquired it from the peoples of the jungle.”
Vincent’s eyes widened and he began to struggle again, despite the knife at his throat. Grissom increased the pressure of his knees on the man’s arms, but continued speaking, almost conversationally. “Tis used as a dart blown from a cylinder from afar for the hunting of game. This close, of course, there is no need to use it as a dart.” He looked down into the terrified eyes of Lord Vincent and continued to explain. “They dip the needle in extracts from the curare plant, then expel it from the cylinder, aiming for their game, trying to get the point as close to the neck as possible.” So saying, he moved his hand so that instead of the knife threatening his opponent’s neck, the dart poised against the skin. “The poison from the curare causes a paralysis, the lungs can no longer move, the animal ceases to breathe and dies from lack of air.”
The lord made to sit up but the mage’s hand was faster and the needle sank deeply into the man’s neck. His eyes widened and he faltered, his body flailing for a moment before he was still. His eyes closed slowly, then reopened as the mage removed the needle and spoke softly. “Fortune favors you my lord, that I had no curare, only belladonna, feverfew and valerian. You will but sleep and awaken in the King’s prison on the morrow.” He watched as the man’s eyes close again and stayed closed.
Rolling off his opponent and struggling to his feet, he heard the cheer go up from the crowd. He lifted a hand to wave and wobbled, nearly falling. Then Lady Sara was there, slipping his arm across her slender shoulders, whispering, “Oh, love, lean on me.”
Gregory took his other side, and the three of them moved off the field together.
The King stood at the edge of the platform and shook his head at Grissom. “A most unusual battle, my lord mage.” He studied him with a soldier’s critical eye. “Return to your tower and rest this day. Tomorrow is enough time for you to leave us.” He turned to the other end of the field. “Captain James.”
“Majesty?” The man came at a trot.
“See the mage to his tower. Stay with the Lady as she sees to his care.” He looked severely first at his niece, then Captain James. “She is to return, under your watch, to her chambers by nightfall.”
The mage knew well the King merely pretended not to see the flush on the lady’s cheeks, or the way Grissom pulled her closer to his side.
****
Arawn stood, saddled and ready, at the gate to the keep, his reins tied loosely to the side of the wagon.
Gregory had loaded the wagon before his fast was broken and now sat atop the seat with the reins in his hands, seemingly impatient for the journey to begin. Cigva now had a young companion to help her pull the load, the mage having bartered another cart horse from the stable master. The King had gifted the Lady Sara with a beautiful white mare, Rhiannon, now tied to the back of the wagon. Arawn kept turning his head to look at the mare, arching his neck and preening, but the lady horse was either oblivious or determined to ignore him.
Gregory leaned down from his perch and spoke to the horse. “She’ll have naught to do with you until you prove yourself worthy.”
The black horse snorted and shook his head.
“Suit your own mind.” The young man shrugged. “But a little humility wouldn’t go amiss.”
Arawn looked as though he might be considering whether a bite was warranted in response to the young man’s love counsel, but the small group of laughing people coming through the gate from the castle drew his attention.
“You must write and let us know how you fare in the North, Sara.” The Queen enfolded her niece within her arms.
“I will.” Lady Sara returned the embrace with affection, then drew back to look into her aunt’s face. “Thank you, my Queen. For all you have given me, for all you have done for me. My words will never be adequate to express the gratitude within my heart.”
The Queen wiped a tear away with a trembling hand and gave a tremulous smile. “You have been as one of my own children. I will miss you.” She pressed her cheek to the young woman’s. “Be well, be happy.”
The King and the mage exchanged a glance over the heads of the women, smiling and shaking their heads. Grissom’s face was scratched and singed from the previous day’s challenge but no wound or burn could hide the joy of his smile.
Grissom moved forward to lay a hand on Lady Sara’s shoulder, but spoke instead to the Queen. “Majesty, I serve at your pleasure, but chivalry bids me protest. I entreat you not to cause my wife to weep!”
The Queen pursed her lips at Grissom in an expression so similar to that of her niece, he blinked. “She has been your wife but an hour, my lord mage, but she has been my niece the whole of her life.” She cocked her head. “And may I charge you that this be the last time she weeps?”
Grissom bowed slowly, still somewhat stiff from the fight the day before. “I can not promise she will never weep again; but if there is aught I can do to prevent it, I will, I swear.”
“Well, then, with that I must be content.” So saying, the Queen pressed a kiss to his bearded cheek.
The King’s brow furrowed at the small salute, but he did not comment as his wife stepped back. Instead, he clapped the mage on the shoulder. “You will be sorely missed, Grissom.”
The mage inclined his head. “Majesty, I will send Gregory to you after a year of training. He has a quick mind and knows much of the natural philosophies. I believe, given time, he will serve as an exemplary mage for you, my King.”
The King nodded, but his hand squeezed Grissom’s shoulder. “I have no doubt the lad will do well. Though I do doubt any other could serve as well as you.” He smiled. “I will miss the man as much as I miss the mage, methinks. You have not always been easy, but you have always had a true heart. I thank you for your service and your friendship.”
Dumbfounded at such high praise from the monarch, Grissom spread his hands. “Majesty, I thank you. I know not…”
The King waved a hand at him. “No need for thanks in telling the truth. Please, just continue to be that same man as a husband you have been as a mage and treat the girl well. She has not had an easy life and she is dear to my own dear wife.”
“I will do my best, majesty.” Grissom gave a slight bow.
“See that you do.” But he smiled as he turned to the again embracing women and enveloped both of them in his arms.
As the royal couple bid their niece farewell, the Captain of the Guard approached the mage. “The King is correct. You will be missed.”
Grissom turned his clear blue gaze on the older man. “All that I hold dear travels with me except you, my friend.” He clasped James’ arm. “I can not thank you enough for your help these last days. But more than that, I thank you for your friendship these years. I have ne’er known a truer friend nor a better man.”
A smile lit the craggy face of the soldier. “I would say the same of you, my lord. I am honored to have called you friend.”
The mage placed his other hand on the Captain’s shoulder. “Should you ever leave the King’s service, please know you have a place with us in the North.”
“A few years hence, I think I will have at last had enough of this soldier’s life. Then, my friend, you will be hard pressed to keep me at bay.”
“Good.” The two friends embraced heartily, bidding each other farewell for a time.
Finally ready to depart, the mage called, “My lady wife?”
Laughing, the Lady Sara gave one last kiss to the cheek of her aunt and uncle and came forward. “My lord husband?”
His smile was wide enough to hurt his cheeks and it was all he could do not to laugh aloud. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, my lord.” She put her hand on his arm. “I am ready for our life together to begin.”
“Very well.” He nodded and lifted her on to Arawn’s back and swung himself up after. He turned to Gregory. “Head North along the forest road. With the extra horse, the wagon should travel faster than it did on our previous journey.”
“Aye, m’lord.” The young man looked puzzled. “You and the lady will travel alone?”
Grissom shook his head, holding the restless Arawn in place and his wife close against him. “We will catch up with you later in the day.” Clicking to the horse, he shook the reins and he added as the horse started forward, “There is a meadow on the other side of the village I have promised to show my lady.”
***
Once upon a time, a long time ago, in a very large cottage or a very small manse, in the lands of the North, so close to the sea that the cries of the gulls could easily be heard from the summer garden, where the waves crashing against the rocks provided a lullaby at night, a mage brought his lady, love and wife.
And they lived happily ever after.
fin
******
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. I am making no money from the writing of this fic. It was written out of love for the characters, as a gift for an amazing person about to become a bride and the desire to give the characters what they deserve, a happily ever after.
I want to thank each and every person who has reviewed. I have tried to answer as many as I could, but I know I missed some. Thank you all so much for your kind words and enthusiasm for this story.
This story could never have been written without the help and support of Kristen Elizabeth. She encouraged me when I first had the thought, cheered me through every scene, corrected my grammar, argued with me about plot points and etymology of certain words and calmed me down when I was freaking out, convinced I had blown it. If I didn’t blow it, it’s largely due to her. If I did, well, I suck, but that’s not her fault.
Madrigal-Chapter 1
Madrigal-Chapter 2
Madrigal-Chapter 3
Madrigal-Chapter 4
Madrigal-Chapter 5
Madrigal-Chapter 6
Madrigal-Chapter 7
Madrigal-Chapter 8
Madrigal-Chapter 9
Madrigal-Chapter 10
Madrigal-Chapter 11
Madrigal-Chapter 12
Madrigal-Chapter 13
Madrigal-Chapter 14