The Devil's armour

16

When he was a very young man, Baron Reynard Ravel’s father had given him a useless bit of wisdom. In a dusty field of their barren farm, his eyes weary from years of struggle, the older Ravel told his son that a man can’t have everything, and that he should not expect too much in life.

It had been easy for Ravel’s father to make such a statement, a convenient excuse to pardon his many failures. To Reynard, who had grown up poor but who had quickly made a fortune importing tea and spices, his father’s advice now seemed quaint, and not at all applicable to the grand life he had built. It was the only thing his father had given him. It was, sadly, a useless inheritance.

Tonight, Reynard Ravel rolled the advice over in his mind. He began to laugh, and his enormous belly convulsed beneath his silk shirt. After a day touring his plantations and an evening spent poring over ledgers, Ravel was tired. His mood, however, remained good. Now at last he could relax over his supper and celebrate his coming victory. Lying on his side amid a bed of colourful pillows, he reached across the floor toward the feast laid out before him, an orgy of meats and fruits and peacock eggs, from which he selected a single, plump fig. He sucked on the fig slowly, admiring the woman dancing before him, her body only partially clothed, glistening with sweat as she turned to the music. An enormous fire in a marble hearth kept the room warm. Ravel watched the perspiration slide down her bare belly and felt a stirring in his loins. She smiled at him, noting his lust, forcing the smile to her lips. Ravel’s girth made him grotesque to women, but his wealth kept them willing. The Merchant-Baron of Andola pinned the fig between his teeth and clapped, grinning like a wolf as he quickened the slave’s pace. The musicians beat their drums and picked their strings faster and faster while the woman sped through her pirouette, her scarlet skirt spinning out around her, the silk around her breasts blurring with colour. Ravel clapped and clapped until she cried with exhaustion, and at that delicate lament he stopped his clapping and watched her collapse to the floor, completing her dance with a toss of her golden hair. The music abruptly stopped. The girl knelt, panting, smiling, looking at him from across the floor. Ravel pulled the fig from his mouth and cheered.

‘Beautiful,’ he applauded. ‘Fate above, you were worth every penny, my dear! Your father wasn’t lying when he said you were an accomplished dancer. I should increase his fee just for that performance.’

A glee that was more like relief flashed through the girl’s blue eyes. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said, then let her gaze drop dutifully to her knees. Her heavy breathing quickened Ravel’s own. He glanced at the musicians and shooed them out of the chamber with a wave of his jewelled fingers. The girl waited obediently. Unsure what to do with herself, she adjusted the beads over her breasts. Ravel pursed his lips, loving her innocence.

‘Come here, girl,’ he said at last. She obeyed, padding toward him on bare feet. An arrangement of pillows had been set for her before the feast. Baron Ravel gestured to the soft spot. ‘Sit.’

Again she did as told, folding her legs beneath her as she sat before her new master. She dared not look up at him, but Ravel did not want her to fear him. He had a harem of women just like her, but he had never raised a hand to any of them. He had found out long ago that love given willingly was far sweeter than any love stolen.

‘You please me,’ he told her.

Her reply was curt. ‘Thank you, my lord.’

Her name was Simah, but she was not precisely a slave, or at least not in the traditional sense. There had been no slavery in Liiria since before the reign of Akeela, and in Ravel’s mind that was good and just. But times were tough, and there were fathers throughout Liiria willing to sell their daughters for enough gold or grain to see them through a season. Above all else, Reynard Ravel was a businessman. He knew a bargain when he saw one. And his precious Simah was certainly that. For such a beauty she had come cheaply, and it seemed her father had been glad to be rid of her. To be truthful, Ravel knew her bondage was slavery, but felt no guilt over the deal. It was not his place to moralise, he decided, but to profit. Simah would have a good home here in Andola. For dancing and the occasional night in his bed, she would avoid the starvation that had snared so many others.

‘You are warm,’ he said. Sweat still glistened on her creamy skin. He imagined the taste of it. ‘Forgive the heat. It is a condition of my blood, you see, for I am always cold. I’m like a little flower. You would think so much blubber would keep me warm!’

He went on to tell her how his own father had been a spindly man, a man of little means, who had worked his tiny parcel of land until dropping dead from exhaustion. When he died, Ravel explained, he was as emaciated as a fishbone.

‘I swore that would never happen to me,’ he told the girl. ‘And as you can see I kept my promise.’

He laughed at his jest but Simah simply stared, too confused to make sense of it. Ravel hoped he hadn’t purchased an idiot.

‘Eat,’ he told her.

She shook her head slightly. ‘I have no appetite, my lord.’

‘Oh, but you must. After such a dance? And such a long day? Eat, girl.’

But the girl did not eat. She simply stared at the food, her expression distant.

‘Simah, I purchased you from your family. You know that, yes?’

Simah nodded.

‘Then you know that you are mine now. You are to obey me.’ Baron Ravel softened his tone a bit. ‘My cooks went to trouble for you, to make you feel welcome. Have a little, at least.’

So the slave did as asked, selecting a single olive from a bowl overflowing with them. She put it in her mouth, chewing slowly and not tasting it.

‘It is painful to be taken away from your family, is that it?’ Ravel probed. ‘Then let me ask you this — is it more painful to leave your family, or to know that your father did not want you?’

The cruel question at last made Simah look at him. ‘My father was as poor as your own father, my lord. Did your father sell you?’

Ravel laughed. ‘You are insolent, but honest. And I will not argue bloodlines with you. My father never had coins in his pocket, only dirt. He didn’t know it, but he taught me what not to be in life. And now look at me. I’m the richest man in Liiria. Rich enough to buy your affection, child.’

‘I came willingly to this bargain, my lord,’ said Simah. ‘I was just a burden to my family.’

‘But you will not be one to me, girl; I will not allow it. I know a bargain when I see one and you were a great find, a treasure.’ He looked at her, inspecting her up and down, letting his eyes wander over her curves and smooth skin. She was a delight. Not yet resigned to her fate, true, but that was how all mustangs were at first. In time, she would accept him and her new life. Her eyes darted about the opulent chamber, plainly astonished by it. According to Bern, who had brought the girl to him earlier, Simah’s own home was a hovel. Living just outside the city, she had watched Ravel war with the other merchants, reducing everything around them to dust. Surely she had never seen anything like the merchant-baron’s home. The elaborate friezes on the wall, the festoons of fragrant flowers, the fountain that miraculously never ran out of water; all these things amazed her. They were so unlike the buildings surrounding the castle, unscathed treasures in a time when everything else was broken. In a way, Ravel’s home was an obscenity, and he knew it. Gilded and dramatic, his castle remained oblivious to the battle-scarred streets below.

‘This is your refuge,’ said Ravel proudly. ‘Nothing will hurt you here. You must get used to that idea. Unlearn the fear you’ve been living with, girl. Others may die in fire and war, but not us. Not here.’

The promise left Simah unimpressed. ‘My lord, men like you bring war.’

‘Oh, you have me wrong, child. I am the saviour of Andola! If not for me the city would have been overrun by bandits. Don’t you know how safe you’ve been because of me?’

Simah did not answer, and Ravel realised she had no concept of his explanation. He sighed at his wasted effort. All the peasants of Andola were like Simah. They blamed him for their plight, never once thanking him for the order he’d brought to their city after Akeela’s death. He had battled for Andola, using his wealth to hire every mercenary he could against the opportunists who had tried to claim the city. The fighting had been fierce and had left a burnt-out husk in its wake, but Ravel was slowly rebuilding. Urchins like Simah simply didn’t realise how long it took to consolidate power.

‘I was in a fine mood but you’ve ruined it now,’ said Ravel. He glanced away, angrily toying with one of his rings.

‘Shall I go then, my lord?’

‘No,’ Ravel growled. ‘You will sit there and let me admire you, and remind me why I thought I had to have you. Tonight is a special night. I’m supposed to be celebrating. You’re supposed to be part of that celebration, Simah. There is an opera being performed right now in the castle for my men and servants. I could be there enjoying it, but I chose to be here with you instead.’

Simah blanched. ‘I’m sorry, my lord.’

‘You should think before you speak of things you know nothing about,’ said Ravel. ‘Politics is not for the weak-minded, and especially not for girls like you. Liiria is in chaos, Simah. It is by my good grace alone that Jazana Carr’s hordes do not come here and capture you. Ah, but you don’t know that, do you? You believe the nonsense fools like your father spout, that I am ambitious and cruel and not to be believed. Great Fate, you don’t even know why I’m celebrating tonight, do you?’

He could see her struggle to answer. Behind her pretty blue eyes her mind worked feverishly.

‘I didn’t expect you to understand,’ said Ravel. He reached for an olive, chewed the meat from it and spat the pit into his palm. ‘Because this is the size of your brain.’ He rolled the pit between his chubby fingers, smiling at the girl, then flicked it away. ‘Tomorrow I depart for Norvor. I’m going to speak with Jazana Carr.’ He paused. ‘You do know who she is, don’t you?’

‘The Diamond Queen,’ said Simah.

‘That’s right. The only woman in the world with enough gall to think she’s my equal. She has her eyes on Liiria, you see. Her forces have been massing near the border.’

‘I know this,’ said Simah. ‘My lord thinks I’m ignorant, but I am not.’

‘Hmm, that’s still in question. What you don’t know is that I sent an envoy to Jazana Carr, asking to speak with her. And she accepted. Now, let’s try out your sharp mind, Simah. What do you think that means?’

‘What?’

‘What do you think it means that she accepted my offer to talk?’

Simah thought for a moment, determined not to look stupid. But she did not know the answer, and had to admit it. She squared her shoulders and said, ‘I cannot say.’

‘That’s why the Fate made you a dancer,’ said Ravel with a grin. ‘But you’re not stupid, Simah. I can see that. I can teach you these things, so listen closely. Jazana Carr is weak. She would not have accepted my offer to talk so readily if she were not.’

Simah frowned at the deduction. ‘My lord, I have heard otherwise.’

‘Speak freely.’

‘My lord thinks the Diamond Queen is weak, but my family lives close to the Novo Valley. She is rich, my lord, richer than you even.’

‘Preposterous,’ spat Ravel. ‘I too have heard this rumour and it irks me. There is no one richer than me, girl, and no woman especially.’ He grunted in disgust. ‘Is that why you spread this lie? Because Jazana Carr is a woman like yourself? It must be nice for you to imagine such things, but I assure you it’s a fantasy. There is no one more wealthy than I. Not even King Akeela had such a fortune.’

His sureness deflated Simah. Her gaze dropped to her lap. As if she had suddenly realised how naked she was, she arranged her meagre garments to hide herself. The act of modesty stoked Ravel’s hunger.

‘Perhaps I should take you on the road with me,’ he purred. ‘Your company would be most welcome in my carriage.’

Simah stiffened. There was no way to decline his offer, so she simply nodded. ‘If that is what my lord wishes.’

‘I will consider it,’ said Ravel. ‘If you please me tonight.’ He clapped his hands loudly. Across the room a door opened and a servant hurried in. The baron told the servant, ‘Fetch the musicians.’

The fellow bowed and backed out of the room, and soon the men with the instruments returned. Without a word they sat themselves down on their pillows, not looking at Ravel, not waiting for him to say anything. They simply began to play. A soft, curvaceous tune came out of their instruments, filling the fabulous room. Ravel finished the sausage he was eating, wiped his greasy lips on his sleeve, then held out his hand toward Simah.

‘Come.’

In all her young life, it was not how Simah expected to lose her maidenhood.

The next morning, Ravel set out for the tedious ride to Hanging Man.

He was refreshed from his night of lovemaking with Simah, a girl he had not expected to be such a tiger. He had forgone the opera for her, and he was glad for that now because they had made their own music together, moaning strains of lust. He had lapped wine off her smooth belly, and summoned his manhood again and again until at last his fat body could take no more. Exhausted, he had rolled over into his pillows and slept, and by the time he awoke Simah was gone, taken to be with the rest of his women.

Baron Ravel had not brought Simah with him as threatened. Instead he rode alone in his opulent carriage, and was glad for the solitude. With the shades rolled up he could see his entourage of soldiers snaking out ahead of him, leading the way toward Norvor and his meeting with Jazana Carr. The sun was unseasonably strong and the fat baron revelled in its touch, letting it warm his face. A decanter of wine sloshed on the bench next to him, held in place along with a collection of crystal goblets by the craftsmanship of a master woodworker. Ravel’s seat was also custom fitted, a huge cushion of red velvet bolstered to endure his enormous weight. With all its adornments and its heavy occupant it took a team of four horses to pull the great carriage, a smartly dressed driver helming the team. The driver’s name was Merwyn and he had been with Ravel for years. Sadly, the same could not be said of most of the other men, who were all mercenaries, lured into Ravel’s army by his great wealth. The ranks of his private militia had swelled considerably in the past year, costing him a fortune, but Ravel knew it would be worth the expense. Eventually, all of Liiria would be his. He was going to Norvor now to assure that bright future.

She is weak, Ravel thought to himself, remembering what he had told Simah the night before. Bern and his other men had warned him against approaching Jazana Carr, but he was certain of the move. There was simply no way the Diamond Queen could best him. She had blustered by mustering forces at Hanging Man, but she was a woman and that meant she didn’t have a military mind. Worse, she had moved far too quickly to make the bluff believable. Her grip over Norvor was only a few months old.

Not just weak, Ravel realised. Stupid, too.

For a moment he was disappointed. Oddly, he had expected more from Jazana Carr. He reached for the decanter, chose one of the identical goblets, and poured himself a portion of the thick wine. He drank to his easy victory.

Moments later, Bern fell back from his lead position and waited for Ravel’s carriage to catch up. When it did, the big colonel rode alongside. He looked uneasy, the way he always did when broaching the subject of Norvor. Unlike most of his men, Bern wore nothing to remind him of his days as a Royal Charger. Instead he wore the common garb of a mercenary, without a crest of any kind. His cape was dusty from the road and his leather gauntlets were cracked from overuse. Dark sweat ran down his grooved face. The sun had turned his neck and balding head crimson. Baron Ravel plucked a handkerchief of yellow silk from his vest and held it out the open window.

‘Here, wipe your face.’

Bern took the cloth, vigorously wiped the perspiration from his brow as he rode, then offered it back to his lord, who winced in disgust.

‘Thank you, no.’

Colonel Bern shrugged and tucked the cloth into his shirt. ‘Warm,’ he commented. Always a man of few words, he let his dour expression speak for him.

‘We’re making good time, yes?’

Bern nodded his sunburned head. A year ago he’d been in Jador, like many of his men. The desert kingdom had turned his skin into bronze leather. According to Bern’s lieutenants, his time in Jador had also made the colonel quiet and sullen, but Ravel had never bothered asking Bern about his days in Jador. Bern was a good soldier. Men followed him, and that was all that mattered to Baron Ravel.

‘We may reach the bridge by noon tomorrow,’ said Bern. His lips twisted at the prospect. The bridge at Roan-Si spanned the river Kryss. More importantly, it would bring them into Norvor. From there it was only a few hours more to Hanging Man.

‘What about the border?’ Ravel asked. ‘Do you think they’ll be trouble?’

‘No,’ replied Bern. ‘I’m certain of it.’

The news relieved Ravel. He hadn’t wanted any trouble with the Reecians, who had been very quiet in the past year while Liiria disintegrated. It was said that King Raxor had been watching Liiria, waiting to see who took power. Raxor, like his deceased brother before him, had long been an ally of the Liirians, but when Akeela died that had all abruptly changed, and no one knew for sure what the Reecians were doing on their borders.

‘If they give us trouble we’ll have to buy our way out of it,’ said Ravel.

‘They won’t,’ said Bern confidently.

Ravel didn’t argue. He was, after all, a businessman, and so left military matters to Bern. He had given most command decisions over to Bern in fact, and the old colonel had proved a brilliant choice. With Bern’s help Ravel had defeated Lakrin and the other merchants, scattering their armies and sometimes hiring their own soldiers right out from under them. The merchant-baron leaned back in his plush carriage, letting the cushion swallow his backside. He studied the hundred horsemen he’d brought with him — only a small portion of the army he’d assembled — and thrilled at the sight. Soon, he would have everything he’d ever wanted. After making his peace with Jazana Carr, he could at last finish off the fools at Koth’s library.

Baron Ravel closed his eyes and sipped his wine. For some reason, the taste reminded him of Simah.

As Bern had promised, Ravel and his caravan reached the bridge at Roan-Si at noon the next day. A contingent of Jazana Carr’s soldiers waited on the other side to greet him, all dressed in different types of uniforms yet all united under the flag of Norvor. The sight of so many soldiers disturbed Ravel, who stuck his head outside the carriage for a better look. Worse, the bridge was narrower than he’d thought. Would his carriage make it over? He hoped so; he was far too heavy to ride a horse the rest of the way. Up ahead, Colonel Bern called the column to a halt. One by one the horsemen reined back their mounts.

‘We’ve stopped, my lord,’ called the carriage driver.

‘I can see that,’ said Ravel. He waited for Merwyn to shuffle down from his bench and open his door before lumbering out of the carriage. Now that he could see more clearly he realised that the Norvans had come with at least as many soldiers as he had. Immediately he looked north. Thankfully, the border with Reec was quiet. Baron Ravel straightened his garments and walked as assuredly as he could toward the bridge. Colonel Bern and a pair of his lieutenants had already dismounted, waiting for him. Across the river the men of Jazana Carr waited on their black horses. A man with a red beard and floppy beret raised a hand in greeting. Bern returned the gesture.

‘He wants us to come ahead, my lord,’ said Bern. ‘They’re our escort.’

Ravel thought for a moment, considering the risks. It unnerved him that Jazana Carr had sent so many soldiers to escort him to Hanging Man. Once across the river, it might be impossible to turn back.

‘Do you smell a trap, Bern?’

The colonel seemed annoyed by the question. ‘This was your idea, my lord. If the Diamond Queen wants to trap us, we’re dead already.’

Baron Ravel agreed. ‘Come with me,’ he said, then sauntered toward the bridge. Bern and his two lieutenants followed on foot. Seeing this, the man with the red beard selected two of his companions, then dismounted and came to meet them. The short walk up the bridge winded Ravel. By the time he reached the apex he was breathing heavily. Seeing his discomfort, Bern handed him the handkerchief he’d taken yesterday. It was still filthy, but Ravel used it anyway. The man with the beard came up to greet them. Behind his strange grin was unmistakable iron.

‘Baron Ravel?’ he asked. He spoke with a peculiar brogue.

‘Aye,’ Ravel replied. ‘I am Ravel.’

The man surprised him by bowing. ‘Greetings, Baron. Jazana Carr welcomes you to Norvor. I am Rodrik Varl, her man-at-arms. I’m to escort you to Hanging Man. My mistress awaits you there.’

‘Indeed, that’s good news, Rodrik Varl,’ said Ravel. He had heard of this man, who he knew to be more than a simple mercenary. Varl was Jazana Carr’s top soldier, and rumoured to be quite dangerous. ‘May I ask why you’ve come with so many men?’

‘Jazana Carr wishes only to provide for your safety, Baron,’ said Varl. He glanced at Bern and his grin widened a little. ‘This is still a dangerous part of the world.’

‘As you can see I’ve brought my own men to protect me, Rodrik Varl, but your queen’s concern is appreciated. How far to Hanging Man?’

‘Not far, my lord. Bring your men and carriage across; we’ll reach the fortress by suppertime.’

Ravel nodded. Now that he was on the bridge he could see it was wider than he’d originally thought, stout enough for his elaborate carriage. ‘Very well,’ he agreed. He looked at Rodrik Varl, examining his grin for any sign of treachery. ‘I look forward to meeting your queen.’

They parted, and Ravel and his men returned to their side of the bridge. When they were out of earshot Colonel Bern began to mutter.

‘A dirty mercenary, that’s all he is. He’s not really a soldier at all, never was.’

The baron ignored Bern’s annoyance, climbed back into his carriage, and let his driver carry him over the bridge. Fifty of his soldiers preceded him, fifty came after. Rodrik Varl, true to his word, led them away from the bridge and south into Norvor, riding along the river Kryss toward Hanging Man. For the first few moments Ravel remained apprehensive. He scanned the horizon for any sign of ambush, but when he realised none was forthcoming he finally relaxed. He reminded himself that he was dealing with a woman. Jazana Carr would not ambush him; she wanted peace between them more than he did.

Perched on a cliff overhanging the river Kryss, the fortress of Hanging Man was like nothing Ravel had ever seen. It was a thousand-foot dive from the towers of Hanging Man to the churning waters below, but that was not how the fortress got its name. Years ago, Norvan kings had hung the bodies of traitors from the towers like flags, letting them undulate in the wind, a ghastly warning to anyone who opposed them. Surprisingly, the barbaric land had moved beyond that practice, but Ravel could easily imagine Jazana Carr or the deposed King Lorn reinstituting it. He was in a dangerous nation now and Baron Ravel had no illusions. If he offended Jazana Carr, she could easily send him back to Andola in pieces. The sight of Hanging Man reminded him of her power. As their caravan hoofed toward the fortress, slowly climbing the steep road that wound toward Hanging Man’s entrance, Ravel’s mind for numbers quickly counted up the men as he noticed them. Soldiers like the ones escorting him surrounded the fortress, parading through its dusty yards and standing watch in its towers. The standards of Norvor and a dozen of its conquered cities coloured the landscape, each pronouncing its loyalty to the Diamond Queen. The great stone turrets of the place stood stark against the blue sky. The scarred skin of the ancient fortress told its bloody history, its high walls pitted with dents from catapult shots, its crenellations smoothed by the freezes and thaws of countless seasons. For a moment, Baron Ravel envied Jazana Carr. In all of Andola — even in all Liiria — there was nothing like this fortress. It was an echo of another age, before men turned their fortunes to building libraries, and Ravel doubted the world would ever see its like again.

Anxious, he poured himself some wine. If Jazana Carr meant to impress she had already done a fair job, but he was not wholly worried. He had expected to see many more soldiers camped around the fortress, and he decided that the rumours of her strength had been ill-founded. This bit of knowledge relaxed him, and by the time his caravan crested the road he was once again confident he’d made the right decision. Rodrik Varl gave the order to halt and his Norvans stopped in the rocky yard. He waved Ravel’s carriage ahead and had Colonel Bern ride alongside it until they too reached the soaring gates of Hanging Man, where at last the carriage halted. His back aching from the rough ride, Ravel didn’t wait for Merwyn to open his door. He got out of the carriage, stepping down onto the Norvan soil with a thud. Bern dismounted and together the two men raised their gaze toward the fortress, ever upward toward its faraway peak. The shadow of the place swallowed the courtyard. Two enormous gates of black iron stood open before them, dwarfing them. Ravel peered into the dark maw and saw the bleak recesses of the fort.

‘Welcome to Hanging Man,’ said Rodrik Varl in his peculiar, laughing brogue. ‘Baron Ravel, if you’ll have your men dismount they may join you inside. Jazana Carr has arranged a welcome for you, with food enough for all.’

Ravel hesitated, but knew he could not refuse. ‘That’s very kind of your mistress. Colonel Bern, you come with me. Have the others remain behind to see to the horses and things. When we’re settled we can send for them.’ He smiled at Rodrik Varl. ‘I think it’s best I see your queen first, sir.’

‘As you wish,’ said Varl. ‘If you’ll follow me. .’

Passing through the enormous gates, Rodrik Varl left his own men in the yard and led the baron and colonel into Hanging Man, into a hall that was dark and wide and decorated with armour and old weapons. The dimness immediately made Ravel claustrophobic, a feeling that worsened as the hall funnelled them deeper into the keep. Handfuls of mercenaries passed them, along with servants and page boys, and Ravel’s mind for accounting continued to total up the numbers. A little smile curved his lips, totally hidden by the darkness of the hall. Though it baked in the Norvan sun the only light in the place came from oily torches. The smell of age and sweat belaboured Ravel’s already overworked lungs.

‘Is it all like this?’ he asked Varl. ‘So. . close?’

‘Not all, Baron,’ replied Varl lightly. ‘The feast room is much better. You’ll see.’

‘Will Jazana Carr be there?’ Ravel pressed. ‘I should like to see her as soon as possible.’

‘My lady lives by her own clock, Baron Ravel. Please, relax and enjoy her hospitality.’

Before he started grumbling, Ravel remembered his manners. Jazana Carr was Queen of Norvor, and this was her land. He offered Varl a diplomatic apology and continued down the hall. At last the dimness diminished. They entered a wide passage blessed with light from high windows. Ravel paused to catch his breath, then heard music. He cocked his head, discovering a pair of doors at the end of the vaulted hall.

Pipes, he told himself. More than one. And a lyre and a harp, too.

His mood buoyed, then improved even more when his keen nose detected food.

‘The feast room?’ he surmised, pointing at the distant doors.

‘Indeed, Baron,’ said Varl. ‘You’re tired, I know, but you’ll be able to rest there.’

‘I admit, I’m as hungry as a dragon.’ Ravel rubbed his chubby hands together. ‘Let’s have at it, then.’

Colonel Bern remained circumspect. They followed Rodrik Varl to the doors. There the bearded man paused, beamed his infectious smile, and pulled open the wooden portals. All at once the hallway flooded with music. Beautiful, accomplished music, the kind made by skilled hands and fine instruments. The doors revealed a giant chamber filled with banquet tables, lit by leaping torches, heavy with platters of food, sweet with flowers and panelled in warm, glowing wood. Servants dressed in white gloves and velvet tended to the tables or stood at attention while wenches filled tankards full of foaming beer. A trio of wine casks lined the far wall, and a bevy of metal plates teetered on a nearby table, stacked high as they waited for the crowd.

So far, though, there was no crowd. Not a single morsel of food had been touched, nor any of the tobacco pinched for pipes. Baron Ravel’s jaw hung open as he surveyed the room. He had expected a pleasant reception, but the feast before him left him dumbfounded.

‘All this. .’ He glanced at Varl. ‘For us?’

Rodrik Varl laughed. ‘As I said, my lord, Jazana Carr wanted to welcome you properly. Now, shall I send for the rest of your men?’

The feast Jazana Carr provided rivalled any of Ravel’s own back home, and though he was glad for it he was also oddly jealous. Clearly she had spared no expense. It seemed to the baron that his hostess was a braggart, because she had provided so much so easily. Still, Ravel was determined to enjoy himself. As suggested, he had sent for most of his men to join him, allowing them to gorge themselves on the queen’s hospitality. There were acrobats and jugglers, pretty girls for the men to admire, endless amounts of beer and wine, and music to delight even Ravel’s jaded ears. The expert musicians had his men dancing and singing alongside the Diamond Queen’s own soldiers, who had joined in the merriment a short time after it started. Jazana Carr had even provided a small dais for Baron Ravel, with a stoutly constructed, thronelike chair to support his great weight and soft upholstery to cradle his backside. There were four other chairs just like it at the dais, two for Bern and another of Ravel’s men, and one for Rodrik Varl. The fourth chair remained empty, however. This one, for Jazana Carr, was at Ravel’s right-hand side, and its vacancy irked the Baron. For two hours he and his men had slaked their varied thirsts, eating their fill and getting drunk on expensive wines, yet Jazana Carr had not appeared or even sent word to him. Ravel hid his anger by sampling everything the servants brought him. He consumed quail eggs by the dozen, pounds of briny chicken feet, countless wedges of cheese from Jerikor — which was his favourite and hard to get, even for him — and washed it all down with rivers of beer and wine. Because of his size he could drink litres without getting drunk and today he proved this fact to anyone who doubted it. Still, while the acrobats tumbled and the singers sang, Jazana Carr did not appear.

Then, just as Ravel felt his anger cresting, he saw her.

And like her feast, she was breathtaking.

The music stopped. The lyres quieted so the horns could trumpet her arrival. Rodrik Varl and the Norvan soldiers lowered their drinks and stood. Ravel hurried to follow this example, his own men doing the same. The tumblers in the centre of the room parted, making way for their mistress as Jazana Carr floated into the chamber. She was unannounced but she needed no introduction, for she was unmistakably the Diamond Queen, her body sparkling with gemstones that dangled from her ears and neck and fingers, her satin gown aglow with emeralds. Her face was magnificent, like polished alabaster, her hair a golden waterfall, long and looped with bronze braids. Her lips, moistly coloured ruby red, pouted as she surveyed the room, but her eyes leaped with girlish joy at the attention. The train of her gown rippled as she walked regally toward the dais, where Rodrik Varl pushed back his enormous chair and came forth to escort her, taking her dainty hand and kissing it. He smiled at his queen with an expression so full of love that it shocked Ravel. Jazana Carr paused before the dais and nodded at her guests.

‘My lord Baron,’ said Rodrik Varl, ‘please meet my lady, Jazana Carr.’

Baron Ravel stepped down from the dais and, straining, bowed the best he could. ‘My lady,’ he said softly, ‘this is a great honour for me.’

‘Baron Ravel, rise, please,’ bid Jazana Carr. She had a voice like a nightingale, soft and lyrical. She smiled at the baron, dazzling him. ‘You grace Norvor by coming here,’ she continued. ‘Not everyone would have done so. Thank you for making the trip.’

‘The trip, my lady, was well worth the sight of you. I would have crossed an ocean had I known how magnificent you are.’

Jazana Carr pretended to blush. ‘I have heard you are a man of taste, Baron. Your compliment honours me.’

Ravel put out a hand. ‘Then do me an honour, lady, and let me take you to your seat.’

With feline grace Jazana Car slipped her hand into the baron’s. Her grip was warm and smooth. Ravel held her hand gently, then brushed past Rodrik Varl to guide the lady up the dais. The slight sway of her hips enchanted Ravel. To say that she was magnificent was to understate the obvious. When they reached her seat Ravel paused and pulled back the enormous chair, bidding her to sit. The Diamond Queen smoothed the emerald ruffles of her gown and did so. At once, two of her exquisitely dressed servants rushed up to fill her glass and offer her food. Jazana Carr took the wine, declined the food, and settled in while Ravel took his seat. In a moment the entire gathering did the same, but they did not start speaking until the lady ordered the musicians to play once again. The instruments bloomed to life. The merriment resumed. Ravel turned confidently to Bern and gave a furtive wink.

‘My lady, you have embarrassed us with so much attention,’ he told Jazana Carr. ‘This celebration; it is all too much! My men and I are overwhelmed by your hospitality.’

‘It is a trifle, believe me, Baron Ravel,’ said the Diamond Queen. ‘And you are a man accustomed to good things. Surely I could have given you nothing less.’

‘I thank you, my lady, but my expectations have been royally exceeded. I came here expecting to talk, but this. .’ Ravel sighed. ‘This is fabulous.’

The compliment made the lady smile. ‘It pleases me to hear you say so, Baron. Of course we will talk, but first you should enjoy yourself. Business is best conducted on a full stomach.’

‘Lady, even my great stomach can only endure so much. We should talk, when you are ready of course. I confess that I’m anxious to hear your opinion on things.’

It was diplomatic speech, yet Jazana Carr seemed not to understand. She ignored the statement, raising her glass and cheering on the acrobats instead, who had taken up positions in front of the dais.

‘We’ll talk, my lord,’ she said finally. ‘In a while.’

Surprised, Ravel had to stop himself from pushing her. She was a silly woman, this Diamond Queen, obviously preoccupied with fun and pretty things. Ravel cultivated his patience. With a snap of his fingers he summoned a serving girl, who placed a platter of gravied meats under his nose for inspection. Ravel retrieved his fork and dragged slices of the meat onto his plate. A teenaged boy refilled his wine glass. The baron settled back into his chair. He made small talk with the queen, complimenting her on her good taste and the remarkable way she had managed to bring so many fine foods to such a desolate place. At this Jazana Carr sniffed. She told him with a wan smile that Hanging Man fortress was not really remote.

‘If you have money, nothing is remote,’ she said. ‘You must know that, Lord Ravel. You are a man of means, after all.’

‘True,’ Ravel replied. ‘I bring the best spices across the continent for my kitchens, the best wines, the best oils. Anything I want. The cost is unimportant.’

Jazana Carr raised her glass to him. ‘People like us should have no concern of such things.’

Like us. The phrase irked Ravel.

‘You are indeed wealthy, my lady. This celebration proves that. Still, it must be very expensive for you.’

The queen shrugged. ‘I suppose.’

Again she turned to the tumblers, who had been joined by an obnoxious juggler who took four plates off the dais and began tossing them into the air. The crowd cheered and so did Jazana Carr, but not Ravel. The baron looked around the room and considered the expenses. How many soldiers were there in Hanging Man, he wondered? And how much did it cost to feed them all? Just the transport fees alone should have been ruinous.

A ruse, he decided. Her ease at paying for such grand opera was a pretence. It could not be anything else. Almost unconsciously he stretched out his hand, laying it across the table near Jazana Carr so that she could see his many rings. She glanced down at his hand for a moment, but only because it distracted her. Still, he seized the moment.

‘Ah, you admire the rings,’ he said. He wiggled his fingers and smiled. ‘I know you’re an expert on gems, my lady. Here. .’ He slipped a ring off his index finger, a fat band of gold with an enormous diamond. ‘Tell me what you think of this.’

Jazana Carr raised her eyebrows politely. ‘Oh, yes, it’s very nice,’ she purred. ‘Diamonds with cuts like that are from Marn. We don’t do that cut in Norvor. Look, let me show you the difference. .’

Now she proceeded to slip off a ring, this one larger than Ravel’s with an even more stunning diamond. ‘Here, you see?’ With her long fingernail she pointed out the differences. ‘Mine is Norvan. See how fine the cut is? Facets like that reflect more light.’

‘Mine came from a Marnan duke,’ said Ravel. ‘You may have it if you like.’

The hint of a crack appeared on the lady’s alabaster face. ‘You’re very kind, Baron. I think, though, that I have enough diamonds.’

Ravel pushed the ring closer to her. ‘Please, my lady, take it. It is nothing to me. If I wanted a hundred like it I could snap my fingers and make it so.’

‘Yes,’ drawled the queen, ‘I’m sure you could.’ Still, she left the ring there on the table, right next to her own. Her sparkling eyes regarded Ravel peculiarly. ‘You seem eager to talk about wealth, my lord. I suppose it is always so with great men of business like yourself.’

‘Forgive me, my lady,’ said Ravel. ‘I have so much of it, you see. It preoccupies me. To run as many holdings as I have requires all my attention, day and night.’

Jazana Carr gritted her pretty teeth. ‘I see,’ she said tightly. ‘Baron Ravel, perhaps you are right. Perhaps we should talk now and discuss what brought you here.’

‘Oh, I agree, my lady. And I assure you, you have nothing to worry about. We’ll come to an arrangement that is generous to you.’

Jazana Carr put down her glass and, with her free hand, took hold of Rodrik Varl’s arm. Varl snickered, shaking his head, and sipped his own drink. Ravel smiled at the queen, confused, as the music and merriment went on around them.

‘Baron Ravel,’ chuckled Jazana Carr, ‘have you come here to offer me something?’

Ravel hesitated. ‘My lady, forgive me. I’m not sure what you’re asking. I came to Hanging Man because you agreed to talk with me.’

‘That’s right,’ replied the queen. Her smile never waned, and Ravel could not decipher what was amusing her. ‘Baron, you’re right. I did accept your offer to come speak with me.’ She looked at him expectantly. ‘And?’

‘And. . well, I’m here.’ Ravel returned her questioning glance. ‘Aren’t you going to offer something?’

Jazana turned to Rodrik Varl and started laughing. ‘You see, Rodrik? What did I tell you? All men are like this!’

Baron Ravel leaned back, wondering what was happening. Next to him, Colonel Bern went stiff.

‘My lady,’ began Ravel, ‘the most unpleasant thought occurs to me. Have you brought me here to offer me terms?’

Jazana Carr couldn’t control herself. She put her hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter. ‘Oh, why, why wouldn’t such a thing occur to you, Baron? Tell me, please, what makes you think you are so much above me?’ She picked up the ring he’d left on the table, holding it out before her. ‘This is supposed to impress me, is it?’ She flung the bauble toward the juggler. ‘For you!’ she laughed, urging the entertainer to take it. Ravel watched, mortified by the act.

‘Great Fate, woman!’ he cried. ‘I came all this way to hear your offer, to make a just peace with you! Surely you don’t expect me to bend to your demands.’

‘No, Baron, you’re right,’ said Jazana Carr. ‘I didn’t expect you to give up so easily. After all, you’re a man, which means you suffer from boundless arrogance. A just peace, you say? What were you going to offer me? What could you possibly offer me, Baron Ravel?’

Ravel growled, ‘Woman, you misjudge yourself to think yourself my equal.’

‘I am not your equal, sir, I am your better.’

‘You are a woman! You and your wealth are nothing compared to me!’

The sound of Ravel’s rant silenced the gathering. All at once the many gathered faces turned toward the dais. The music stopped. Jazana Carr twirled a thin finger in the air to start it up again. The musicians obeyed, but the soldiers in the room continued staring. Ravel was breathing hard. His face flushed with embarrassment.

‘My lady, you presume too much. I am not a man who yields. I came here in good faith, to strike a bargain that benefits us both.’

‘I didn’t bring you here to bargain, Baron Ravel. I brought you here to show you what you’re up against. You’ve seen my men, the army that I have at my fingertips. I should think my intentions are clear, even to a fat-headed merchant like yourself.’ Jazana Carr stopped smiling. ‘I made a promise to an old friend to take Liiria and make it mine. I won’t be stopped by some horse-trader looking to make a deal.’ With one finger she flicked the remaining ring on the table under Ravel’s nose. ‘This is my offer, Baron — this ring for Andola. You may remain governor, and that is all.’

‘What?’ Ravel erupted. ‘Witch! This insult is inexcusable!’

‘I don’t dicker like a fishmonger, Lord Ravel. That ring is the only payment you’ll ever get from me. Take what I’m offering and you’ll live a long, fat life.’

‘And if I don’t?’ hissed Ravel. ‘What will you do? What can you possibly do to me?’

Jazana Carr leaned back in her thronelike chair. ‘Look around.’

‘Ha! Yes, I’ve seen your army, woman. A bunch of cutthroats. These men that you’ve massed here; my forces could best them in a day. You think you’re rich? You think you have an army? You have nothing compared to me!’

‘I have the means to defeat you, Baron. Somehow, you should force yourself to believe that.’

Ravel struggled with her words. What she was saying was impossible. ‘My lady, if you mean to test my coffers, you will lose.’

Jazana Carr replied, ‘I would enjoy that test very much.’

The statement was unbelievable. Ravel could not fathom her conceit. He rose, looking around the chamber. The shocked faces of his men stared back at him.

‘This is a trap,’ he gasped. ‘Is that why you brought me here? To force this bargain on me?’

‘I told you, my lord, I brought you here for your own good. I intend to take Liiria. I have a point to make, you see, and you’re standing in my way. But it doesn’t have to be that way. You can join me and keep the good life you have.’

‘As your lapdog? You must be insane.’

Rodrik Varl rose slowly to his feet. Bern did the same, locking eyes with the mercenary. The silence in the chamber grew deathly. But Jazana Carr remained placid, madly confident.

‘You have a choice to make, Baron Ravel, and you need to make it right now. You can’t believe that I’m more powerful than you. I know; I’ve seen so many men like you that I no longer blame them for it. You’re not really at fault. It’s a product of your arrogance. But this is a time for clear thinking. You may be the richest man in the world, Baron Ravel, but I have the resources to bury you. Please believe that, for your own sake.’

‘Or what?’

‘Or, you can go back to Andola and make ready for war. It won’t do any good, but at least you’ll have the chance to act brave. Men love doing things like that.’

Ravel studied her face and knew she wasn’t bluffing. She was insane, he concluded. ‘And you’ll just let us walk out of here? Just like that?’

Unbelievably, she replied, ‘If that’s what you want. Why would I stop you?’

‘Because that’s what I would do, kill my enemies. I wouldn’t let them just walk out of here!’

‘Perhaps, if I were afraid of you, I would do that,’ said Jazana Carr.

The unnerving answer came with a smile. Too surprised to react, Baron Ravel simply stood there for a moment, his eyes darting around the room, waiting for an attack that never came. His own men sat unmoving in their seats. Bern and Rodrik Varl still stared each other down. It was decision time, and Ravel made it quickly.

‘You are a wild child, Jazana Carr. You may be something special in this dust bowl called Norvor, but in Liiria you will be nothing but a troublesome gnat. Let my men and me out of here and I’ll prove that to you.’

Gesturing toward the doors, the Diamond Queen said, ‘It was nice meeting you, Baron Ravel. I’ll see you again.’

Still, Ravel didn’t move.

‘This is no deception, Baron,’ Jazana Carr assured. ‘No one is waiting to assassinate you. You’re free to go, all of you. Your horses and carriage are in the yard.’

Ravel looked at Bern, who in turn looked at his waiting men. He told them to rise and they did so. To their astonishment none of the Norvans moved to stop them. Even Jazana Carr remained seated. For a moment Ravel thought of plunging a dagger through her breast and ending her mad existence, but he knew he’d only die in the effort. Slowly, he inched his way off the dais with Bern. Again no one moved. Finally sure that the queen wasn’t bluffing, Ravel stepped into the centre of the chamber, told his men to leave, and remained behind while they exited.

‘You’re a very brave woman,’ he told her. ‘But you are only a woman, and there are lessons you need to learn. When you come to Andola I will teach you these things.’

‘Other men have tried, Baron,’ countered Jazana Carr. ‘But if you want your chance to instruct me, I’ll oblige you.’

Her arrogance was hateful; Ravel could stand no more of it. He thundered out of the chamber with Colonel Bern close at his heels, following his men through the hallways of Hanging Man and into the courtyard. Remarkably, Jazana Carr had kept her word. They found their horses there, fed and watered, along with Ravel’s private carriage. Norvan soldiers remained at their posts, but none moved a finger to stop them.

In the shadow of the great fortress, Baron Ravel climbed into his fancy conveyance and prepared for the long ride home.