The Death Ray

1

Regdar felt like a new man. Out of his heavy armor for what seemed like the first time in years, he even felt lighter. He'd been to a barber in the morning so his hair was neatly trimmed, his face cleanly shaven, and he'd had a bath. Pressed for time, he'd stopped short of a leeching. He had something to pick up at the shop of a master bowyer.

Naull had picked out the gray tunic of light wool that he wore and the matching breeches. Though far from fancy, the outfit was new, clean, and quickly tailored to fit his bulging physique. The shoes bothered him, though. They were also chosen by the pretty young mage who had become his constant companion in the weeks since they returned to the city from the frontier keep. The shoes were too low and too soft. They were city shoes, more appropriate for polished marble floors than his old boots. In that respect they were probably a good choice but they still made Regdar nervous.

He walked briskly, and alone, down the entrance hall of the duke's palace. Regdar felt like he was walking down the middle of a deep canyon. The walls soared so high over his head, he was only dimly aware of being inside at all. The intricately decorated flying buttresses seemed altogether too tall to have been made by humans, though indeed they were. The light seemed to radiate from the air itself-not too bright, not too dim. Even Regdar recognized that particular touch as decidedly magical.

At the end of the hall he came to a set of double doors that surely could have accommodated the shoulder width and headroom of a storm giant. In front of the door were two guards dressed in ceremonial armor, their azure tabards embroidered with gold thread in the house arms of the Duke of Koratia. The spindly dragon design was as familiar to Regdar as his own face. The same device was painted on his shield, though his dragon was red against gold-the field colors of the Comitatus. Each of the guards held a wickedly-bladed halberd. The polearms and their armor all but vibrated with magic. Regdar let slip an impressed smile. Those guards were hardly to be trifled with, however frilly their dress.

The big fighter was also aware of several other sets of eyes on him, though he couldn't be certain of their exact hiding places. To be sure, more than two men guarded the door to the duke's palace, and Regdar suspected it would require ten times that many simply to pull open the mighty doors.

When he approached within half a dozen steps of the guards, one of them said, "State your name and your business before the Duke of Koratia."

The man's deep voice didn't echo in the huge hall. It seemed to drift over Regdar with an air of perfect, calm authority.

"I am Regdar," he answered, "late of the Third New Koratia Comitatus, Red Dragon Regiment, here at the request of His Highness the Duke."

By the look on the guard's face it was obvious to Regdar that the man knew exactly who Regdar was and why he was there. Without answering, the guard stepped to the side, as did his companion. The doors swung slowly inward. Neither of the guards had touched them, and the great golden hinges made no sound. When they'd opened more than enough to allow Regdar to pass, the guards bowed slightly and Regdar stepped through.

The entrance hall had been impressive but the chamber within was awe-inspiring. The ceiling soared to an impossible height, and everywhere were frescoes and gilding and bas relief. Regdar thought it would take months, perhaps years, for him to study every work of art for more than a few seconds. The floor was the same polished marble as the columns, buttresses, and ceiling. The masonry was so fine that if Redgar hadn't believed it impossible, he might have thought the entire room was cut from a single slab of stone covering an acre of land.

Regdar saw the duke, surrounded as usual by a small crowd of palace advisors and bodyguards. The duke noticed Regdar, too, but continued speaking with his retainers, not watching as Regdar closed the imposing distance between them. The big fighter stopped a few yards short of the assembly and stood, strictly out of habit, at attention.

The duke finally turned his piercing green eyes on Regdar and smiled.

"You may stand at ease, footman," the duke joked.

Regdar felt his face flush and he took some uncomfortable effort in trying to be casual. Noting his discomfort, the duke stepped up to Regdar and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Regdar," he said, "old friend. Have you been enjoying the city?"

"Yes, Your Highness," Regdar replied.

"And still I can't bother you with staying at the palace?"

"No," Regdar said, too quickly. He winced, cleared his throat, and added, "Respectfully, Your Highness, no, thank you, but the inn you recommended is already more than I require. I have simple needs."

The duke gave Regdar a devilish, teasing wink and clapped his shoulder again.

"A thousand pardons, Your Highness," a lithe elf said, stepping out of the crowd of faceless advisors. He held a slate and a delicate stylus. Glowing runes on the slate gave the elf s face a pale blue cast. "The appropriations, Your Highness?"

"Will have to wait, Minister Nyslorvijiik," the duke replied, not bothering to look at the elf. Instead, he pressed gently but firmly against Regdar's shoulder, leading him away from the ministers.

"But-" the elf started.

The duke stopped, turned to the elf, and leveled a cool, silent gaze at him. Minister Nyslorvijiik went a bit pale-more embarrassed than afraid-and he sketched a quick bow.

"As you wish, My Duke," he said, taking two steps backward.

Duke Christo Ramas was as tall as Regdar, and though a good thirty years the fighter's senior, he was still a strong, solidly built man. A full head of wavy, white hair and an equally colorless beard framed his time-and stress-worn face. His hands, rough and scarred, were a warrior's hands. The ring finger of his left hand was missing. Regdar had heard more different stories of how the duke sustained that injury than even the most talented bard would have been able to recall. His dress was as simple as Regdar's, though azure where the fighter's was gray.

The duke led Regdar a few steps farther into the room, and the fighter could hear the others backing away as well, giving them more room.

"I am glad to see you, my young friend," the duke said. His voice was quiet, conversational, but still commanding.

"You flatter me, Your Highness," Regdar replied.

The duke chuckled and said, "I will admit to anyone who will listen that I was more alive, and more a leader, against the janni than I've ever felt here. It is an honor to lead this duchy, to be certain, but the true honor lies in the command of men such as yourself."

"I am a soldier," Regdar said. "I serve."

"Yes," the duke said, his voice and manner growing even lighter, perhaps wistful. "You serve. You serve indeed, and are a soldier forged of the finest steel, my friend, but you could be more."

"More, Highness?"

The duke stepped closer-uncomfortably close-and held Regdar's eyes with his own.

"A man," the duke said, "the right man, could rise as high as…"

With a sigh the duke looked away, then down at the floor, as embarrassed as the interrupting minister had been. Regdar felt his face flush again and he, too, looked away.

"I get ahead of myself," the duke said, "again."

A series of staccato clicks sounded on the marble floor and Regdar's eyes were drawn to their source. The duke also looked up to see a beautiful, young woman approaching with long tendrils of silk wafting behind her in a delicate wake. She was wrapped in silk that clung to her slim curves in an almost uncomfortably alluring way. Walking straight and tall, she slipped across the floor in elaborately braided sandals that, from the sound they made, were surely fitted with taps. Her hair was the color of hay and even the gruff fighter knew its gentle curls had been painstakingly arranged to fall just so over one delicately arching eyebrow. Certainly still in her teens, the girl's face betrayed a singular self-confidence beyond her years. Her crystal green eyes were of a set with the duke's. In a way Regdar felt as if he was looking at a smaller, younger, softer version of Christo Ramas.

"Ah," the duke said, breaking the silence, "Maelani."

The girl smiled and fluttered to a stop before the two men.

"Father," she said, dipping into a shallow curtsy.

"Regdar," the duke said, touching the fighter on the arm, "late of the Third New Koratia Comitatus, and a good friend."

The girl smiled, showing straight teeth of almost blinding white, and said, "Regdar…"

"My daughter," the duke continued, "the Lady Maelani."

Regdar bowed, feeling a bit on display under the girl's embarrassingly precise gaze.

"My lady," he said.

"My father has told me a great deal about you, Regdar," Maelani said. "Your efforts in defense of the duchy are…"

She seemed to be searching for a word, and the duke said, "Most appreciated."

Maelani's cheeks flushed red and she looked away.

The duke laughed and said, "My daughter studies well and often, and will soon enough comport herself like the duchess she's destined to be."

Maelani either couldn't or didn't bother disguising the irritation in her face.

"She's lovely," Regdar broke in. His face flushed red with embarrassment, and sweat trickled down his chest.

The comment that Regdar so regretted made the duke laugh and Maelani blush again. She smiled at the fighter, who looked away.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness…L-lady…" Regdar stammered.

"Surely you've heard that my daughter's hand is the most sought-after prize in the duchy, if not the world," the duke said, and again Maelani showed her irritation. "She is reaching the age where a marriage is possible, and I am reaching an age where her marriage is necessary. She is my only child, Regdar, and I love her deeply. She is also my only heir, and I love Koratia at least as much…though in a different way," he added hastily.

Regdar nodded, still too embarrassed to follow what the duke was trying to say.

"Maelani," the duke said, "I would suspect that we'll be seeing more of Regdar in the coming weeks. I hope that prospect pleases you."

Maelani, whose future husband would eventually become the Duke of Koratia, smiled and nodded. Regdar began slowly to understand. He felt the color drain from his face, and his forehead went damp and cold. His mouth was dry. He tried to clear his throat but instead made an unbecoming, weak, squeaking noise.

Surely, he thought, the duke remembers Naull and everything I went through to get her back.

"It does please me," the beautiful young woman replied with undisguised pleasure. "I would like to hear of your worldly experiences…"

Regdar's jaw went slack and he had to blink sweat out of his eyes.

"With the Comitatus, of course," Maelani added.

Regdar sagged with relief.