freedom?”
“Aye, Your Grace,” Leksi said in a defeated voice.
“Too bad I don’t intend to hold you to it, eh, Captain?” Krull inquired, and when Leksi looked up, the Lord High Commander grinned. “Unless, of course, you would prefer Clea’s distinctive looks to those of Kynthia Ancaeus.”
Laughter rang out over the assemblage and Kratos broke ranks to slap Leksi on the back. Such was the ease with which Krull’s men held him, other soldiers came to mill around Leksi and shove him good-naturedly for his folly.
“So, Clea won’t gain the handsome Captain Helios to husband, but we still need a plan to get into the keep and take Abalam,” Lord Krull said. “Let’s meet back here at nine of the clock tomorrow morn. I will expect a plan by then, gentlemen.”
Kratos slipped an arm around Leksi’s shoulders. “You do realize he could well have held you to your vow, don’t you, brat?”
“Aye,” Leksi answered, looking across the room to where Lord Krull was deep in conversation with a Tribunal member.
“What was that all about concerning the villa where you met your lady? Is there something I should know about there?” Kratos inquired.
“I’ll tell you someday, old friend,” Leksi replied.
Kratos lowered his voice. “Has it to do with your lady being a shape shifter?”
Leksi glanced around but no one was close enough to hear. “That is a secret it would be dangerous to her for others to know, Kratos.”
Pressing his index finger and thumb together, Kratos imitated sealing his lips. “Not from this mouth will anyone hear of it, Leksi.”
“Good man,” Leksi said. “Now let’s go speak with Lord Krull, and extend my lady’s offer to him. Perhaps I know of a way we can gain Abalam’s keep and take that troublemaker into custody.”
Chapter Seven
King Abalam Robeus was an evil man. No one disputed that fact and those who had reason to observe his evil up close swore he was not only evil but wickedness personified.
As ugly as he was evil, his malevolence stabbed from beady little eyes that resembled those of a pig. Grossly fat, he had stubby little fingers—each adorned with a large, expensive ring—and feet so small it was hard for him to stand. With flabby jowls that wobbled as he talked, flesh the color of mottled clay and legs so bowed a good-sized boulder could pass between them and not touch either knee. There was nothing in the least appealing about the king.
His daughter was just as unattractive as he but in a different way.
Reed-thin and overly tall, with a face as sharp as a razor, huge eyes that watered constantly beneath sparse eyebrows that formed one long line across the top of her beak-like nose, bony hips that protruded against even the most expensive gowns, huge, flat feet that slapped the floor as she walked and a peculiarly bad odor that clung to her even fresh from a long soak, Clea Robeus was a very unenviable person.
But her pitiful ugliness did not mirror her soul for she was of a sweet, charitable disposition and bore a wicked sense of humor—telling jokes even at her own expense—that often set the somber, terrified court to laughing.
“Never will I find a man to Join with me unless his life depends upon it,” she said often, followed by, “Even then I imagine he would prefer death to my bony embrace.”
Since his daughter did not share his penchant for evil, the king ignored Clea as faithfully as he had fucked her hapless mother thirty-nine years earlier. He could not have cared less if she ever snared a mate and certainly would never put himself—or his court—to the trouble to find her one.
“Let the gods-awful hag wither and die for all I care,” King Abalam had been heard to say. “Had she been a male child, I might have given a shit, but what good is a female but to hump, and not even I would lay hands to that bitch!”
Sitting with her ladies-in-waiting, Clea was hard at work on a tapestry that depicted the Great War between
“Aye, Your Grace,” Leksi said in a defeated voice.
“Too bad I don’t intend to hold you to it, eh, Captain?” Krull inquired, and when Leksi looked up, the Lord High Commander grinned. “Unless, of course, you would prefer Clea’s distinctive looks to those of Kynthia Ancaeus.”
Laughter rang out over the assemblage and Kratos broke ranks to slap Leksi on the back. Such was the ease with which Krull’s men held him, other soldiers came to mill around Leksi and shove him good-naturedly for his folly.
“So, Clea won’t gain the handsome Captain Helios to husband, but we still need a plan to get into the keep and take Abalam,” Lord Krull said. “Let’s meet back here at nine of the clock tomorrow morn. I will expect a plan by then, gentlemen.”
Kratos slipped an arm around Leksi’s shoulders. “You do realize he could well have held you to your vow, don’t you, brat?”
“Aye,” Leksi answered, looking across the room to where Lord Krull was deep in conversation with a Tribunal member.
“What was that all about concerning the villa where you met your lady? Is there something I should know about there?” Kratos inquired.
“I’ll tell you someday, old friend,” Leksi replied.
Kratos lowered his voice. “Has it to do with your lady being a shape shifter?”
Leksi glanced around but no one was close enough to hear. “That is a secret it would be dangerous to her for others to know, Kratos.”
Pressing his index finger and thumb together, Kratos imitated sealing his lips. “Not from this mouth will anyone hear of it, Leksi.”
“Good man,” Leksi said. “Now let’s go speak with Lord Krull, and extend my lady’s offer to him. Perhaps I know of a way we can gain Abalam’s keep and take that troublemaker into custody.”
Chapter Seven
King Abalam Robeus was an evil man. No one disputed that fact and those who had reason to observe his evil up close swore he was not only evil but wickedness personified.
As ugly as he was evil, his malevolence stabbed from beady little eyes that resembled those of a pig. Grossly fat, he had stubby little fingers—each adorned with a large, expensive ring—and feet so small it was hard for him to stand. With flabby jowls that wobbled as he talked, flesh the color of mottled clay and legs so bowed a good-sized boulder could pass between them and not touch either knee. There was nothing in the least appealing about the king.
His daughter was just as unattractive as he but in a different way.
Reed-thin and overly tall, with a face as sharp as a razor, huge eyes that watered constantly beneath sparse eyebrows that formed one long line across the top of her beak-like nose, bony hips that protruded against even the most expensive gowns, huge, flat feet that slapped the floor as she walked and a peculiarly bad odor that clung to her even fresh from a long soak, Clea Robeus was a very unenviable person.
But her pitiful ugliness did not mirror her soul for she was of a sweet, charitable disposition and bore a wicked sense of humor—telling jokes even at her own expense—that often set the somber, terrified court to laughing.
“Never will I find a man to Join with me unless his life depends upon it,” she said often, followed by, “Even then I imagine he would prefer death to my bony embrace.”
Since his daughter did not share his penchant for evil, the king ignored Clea as faithfully as he had fucked her hapless mother thirty-nine years earlier. He could not have cared less if she ever snared a mate and certainly would never put himself—or his court—to the trouble to find her one.
“Let the gods-awful hag wither and die for all I care,” King Abalam had been heard to say. “Had she been a male child, I might have given a shit, but what good is a female but to hump, and not even I would lay hands to that bitch!”
Sitting with her ladies-in-waiting, Clea was hard at work on a tapestry that depicted the Great War between
Similar Books
