Story Update: Forging the Blade: Kithe and Kin, Chap. 4, 3/3
kageorge (kageorge@EROLS.COM)
Wed, 21 Nov 2001 10:14:21 -0400
Forging the Blade: Part II
Kithe and Kin
by MacGeorge
See acknowledgements and disclaimers in Part 0.
~~~~~~~
"Duncan, time to go." Connor pulled at his student's elbow.
"But, 'tis hardly late, and..."
"Don't argue with me."
His student studied him, eyes slightly unfocused, but evidently
recognizing both the urgent tone and the look. Somehow, Duncan refrained
from whatever protest he had planned, and lurched up, calling goodnight
to his new-found friends and following Connor out into the cool
darkness.
"Wha's the matter?" Duncan asked once they were out in the street. Dim
light from a few taverns spotted the night, and a few lanterns were lit
at street corners, so Connor kept towards the middle of the street and
away from the dark shadows and alleys.
"How drunk are you?"
"What does that mean?" Duncan sounded mildly insulted. "I'm not drunk."
"Act drunk, then," Connor ordered.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Duncan was sounding more sober
with each word.
"We are going to be attacked on the way back to our rooms. You are
drunk, unable to defend yourself, and you are to let them kill you, do
you hear me?" Connor whispered harshly.
"Wha...let them kill me?"
"Hush! Yes. Just do as I say, and for God's sake try not to hurt anyone
too badly!" Connor snapped as they turned off the Royal Mile to the
steep, dark wynd that led to their rooms.
"But..."
A dark shadow swished by at the edge of Connor's vision, and he swirled,
drawing his blade. He felt Duncan do the same, and the two men were back
to back without ever discussing or planning their defense. They were in
a narrow, dark street, with several hooded men in front of them, and
behind them. Connor lunged and swept his blade in a broad arc as their
attackers closed in. He would do what was necessary to defend them until
Duncan was down.
But Duncan didn't want to go down, and he heard a cry of pain and a body
hit the cobblestones. "Duncan!" he yelled. "Remember what I told you."
"Dammit, Connor...!" But during the next few frantic moments of
defending himself against too many opponents, he heard Duncan gasp in
pain, and smelled the coppery scent of blood. "Connor," Duncan choked,
his voice strained and hoarse, and Connor wanted to take back his
instructions, his anger automatically rising in defense of his injured
student, and he struck out at the half-dozen shadows that circled him.
With a last lunge, Duncan hit the ground hard and didn't stir. Only then
did Connor act. He swirled his lighter blade, cutting through the air
with twice the speed of his attackers, spinning to make sure he cut each
and every one of the cowardly assassins who hunted in a pack, then he
backed up, standing over Duncan's body as they closed in en mass, and
felt at least three blades enter him at once, in his side, his shoulder
and through his chest. Blood bubbled up into his throat, and he pulled
his precious katana into his body and crumpled protectively over
Duncan's still form.
~~~~~~~
"Connor!"
"Dammit, Connor, answer me!"
Duncan's voice was tense with anxiety, and Connor would have answered,
but he was too busy swallowing the blood in his throat and breathing
through the intense, sharp pain that speared his chest. Duncan shook
him, which only made the pain worse. "Enough," he managed to choke out,
flailing with his hand to get him to stop poking and prodding at him.
"You're alive!" Duncan breathed with a sigh of relief.
"Of course I'm alive, ya sheep-brained bastard, and I'll stay alive a
lot longer if you'll stop poking at me like I was a sack of grain!"
Connor managed to push himself to sitting, looking around to make
certain his blade was still in his possession. Fortunately, the
assassins had left that, which showed a certain amount of sense, since
it was a unique blade that could easily be traced back to his
'murderers.' The small number of coins he had kept back from his pouch
were, however, gone.
"What the hell did you want them to kill us for?" Duncan insisted. "I
ruined my new shirt! Look at this, it's got a right bloody hole in it
now, and it was the only nice shirt I had, even if it does have all this
stupid lace on it. And they stole your money. Why did you let them do
that, when we could have..."
"Shut up, Duncan," Connor sighed tiredly, as he let the man help him to
his feet, staggering slightly with the loss of blood, an impressive pool
of which now stained the stairs of the wynd.
~~~~~~~
By the time of Connor's three o'clock appointment with the Earl of
Huntly the following day, he had explained the situation to his student,
who did not take the news particularly well. Duncan thought they should
have killed all the assassins, dumped their bodies on the steps of
Holyroodhouse, and hung the Earl from the nearest tall tree. The fact
that doing so would have probably resulted in their execution, possibly
involving a beheading, did not seem to dent Duncan's bloodlust in the
slightest.
He managed to mollify Duncan's ire somewhat by buying him a new shirt,
this time without all the lace. Of course, he had to buy himself a new
suit, as well. It was fortunate he still had some credit at Heriot's.
They arrived at Holyroodhouse at the appointed hour, and gave their name
to Huntly's clerk, who had gone stark white as soon as he looked up from
his desk. The clerk coughed into his handkerchief until Connor thought
the man was going to expire, then rose and scurried into the Earl's
inner chamber.
Connor and Duncan waited in the foyer, mingling among the various
sycophants and petitioners until well past the hour of their
appointment, but at last they were escorted in. This time, the Earl was
seated at his desk, carefully studying the documents in front of him. It
was several minutes after Connor had bowed perfunctorily before the Earl
looked up, his expression carefully neutral.
"Good afternoon, Mr. MacLeod," he said smoothly, and gestured to the
chair in front of his desk. "I'll be with you in a moment." Huntly
dipped a quill into an inkwell and signed several of the papers,
blotting them, then scattering sand over the drying ink. "I take it you
had an opportunity to examine the accounting your captain provided?"
"Aye," Connor acknowledged, admiring the man's external control. His
hands had only been shaking slightly as he affixed his signature to the
papers. "It seems to be in order. As I said, Captain O'Brien is a good
man. I certainly trust that he has not met with any misadventures since
I saw him last. We live in treacherous times, after all."
Huntly's eyes flickered up to meet his, briefly, then went back to his
papers. "I see you brought your...kinsman...with you once more. Surely,
you do not feel threatened in these halls, Mr. MacLeod. That would imply
a lack of trust." At last the Earl looked up and met Connor's gaze
fully, a smile delicately painting his lips.
"My kinsman has this odd notion that someone might wish me harm," Connor
replied. "I know it is silly of him, here in the great city of
Edinburgh, but even so we were attacked last night, most viciously."
"Really? Shocking, absolutely shocking. Cutpurses and beggars, no doubt,
and no challenge for swordsmen such as you?"
"There were a large number of them, but as you can see," Connor opened
his hands, "MacLeods are difficult to kill. Some even say we come back
from the dead to smite our enemies."
Huntly smiled tightly, paling even more, but said nothing.
"But," Connor shifted in his seat and crossed his legs, "I believe we
have a transaction to conduct?"
The Earl cleared his throat, shuffled his papers a few times, his jaw
clenched tightly. "Yes, well..."
"I believe the terms are clear, and, as you said, the accounting is
satisfactory."
The Earl's hands slowly closed into fists, and Connor could hear a small
shift of weight from the man standing behind him.
"I do have an appointment later, my Lord, and I believe my kinsman is
getting restless. If you cannot handle providing the proceeds from the
transaction, then perhaps you would like to hand over the issue to
Heriot's?"
"No." The reply was slightly strangled, but at last the Earl reached
into a lower drawer and drew out a pouch of coins. "That is all the
coinage I have available at this time. It is 500 pounds."
Connor heard Duncan's sharp intake of breath behind him. The lad
undoubtedly had never imagined that much money even existed in one place
before. "And the rest?" Connor asked.
The Earl folded one of the papers he had just signed and put it into an
envelope. "This is my letter of mark for the remaining proceeds." He
tossed it to the edge of his desk in a gesture of disdain. "You are
dismissed," he added with a wave of his hand, then rose and turned to
the window.
Connor stood, picked up the envelope, opened it, and carefully inspected
the contents, nodding thoughtfully. "'Tis a pleasure doing business with
you, my Lord." The man at the window was studiously silent, and Connor
turned, with Duncan again trailing behind him. As he neared the door, he
paused and turned when the Earl called his name.
"Be...careful, Mr. MacLeod. 'Tis said there are evil spirits about in
the streets at night."
"I am always careful, my Lord, and evil spirits should always be wary of
a righteous man, should they not?" Connor smiled, careful to show his
teeth before he turned his back on the Earl, and left the room.
~~~~~~~
The two MacLeods returned to the tavern where the Earl of Montrose had
found them the evening before, but only after Connor had stopped off at
Heriot's to repay the credit he had withdrawn, and to deposit most of
the coins and the letter of mark from the Earl of Huntly. Heriot had
looked up as he read Huntly's letter, one gray eyebrow crawling up a
broad forehead, but the goldsmith and money-lender had said nothing. He
gave receipts for Connor's deposits, and assured Connor that a record of
the transaction would be sent to their offices in London and to
affiliated offices in Paris and Rome.
Duncan was in a jubilant mood, but Connor was still nervous about
Huntly's assassins, and was anxious to get back to Glencoe as soon as
possible. Jamie was waiting for them at the tavern, and greeted Connor
with a shout and a hug. "Damnation, Connor MacLeod, but I hadn't thought
to see you alive again! Rumors were all over the streets last night that
two men had been murdered by a gang of a dozen or more, who had left
them dead in an alley."
Connor laughed, and pulled his friend onto a bench. "Hush yourself,
Jamie. People will think you tell tall tales to frighten them. Did
anyone find these murdered men? No, of course not."
Montrose studied him, then looked over to Duncan, who was watching the
other two men with a carefully neutral expression. "Then tell me what
happened, Connor."
"Well, Huntly closed the deal, of course," Connor replied evenly,
signaling for a drink to the nearest barmaid. "That cannot be all there
is to it," Montrose said softly, leaning close. "I heard a half dozen of
Huntly's men, battered and wounded, were sent back to his estates in the
north."
"Really?" Connor leaned back with a look of shocked innocence. "Whatever
can they have gotten up to, do you think?" The barmaid set a full
pitcher of ale in front of them, along with three empty tankards. As she
started away, Duncan caught her hand and pulled her down into his lap.
"Och, you are terrible, Duncan MacLeod!" the girl protested with a grin,
as Duncan kissed her boldly on the cheek.
"That's not what I've heard," Jamie inserted. "The ladies at
Holyroodhouse, including my own wife, are all quite besotted with the
lad. I should probably be offended."
"Aye," Connor admitted ruefully as he filled the three tankards from the
pitcher. "But even so, you were going to pay for our drinks tonight, eh,
my Lord?"
Jamie took Connor's purse out of his jacket and dropped it on the table.
"Oh, aye. I've got the money right here." The two men shared a grin as
Duncan swept the barmaid up in his arms amidst a screech of giggles. "It
looks to me, Connor MacLeod, like your kinsman has all the fun around
here, and most of the good women."
Another attractive serving woman squeezed by their table, and Connor
reached for her. She slapped his hand away with a practiced gesture, but
then turned and winked at him.
"Later, my lad!" she called.
Connor leaned back towards Jamie, shouting loudly enough to be heard
over the noisy crowd. "But not all of them, my friend. Not all."
End of Chapter 4
To be continued....
Author's Note: The characters of George Heriot, the Earl of Montrose,
his wife, and the Earl of Huntly, were real historical figures in early
17th Century Scotland. The actual events are, of course, products of my
warped imagination. If you are interested in more information, a good
place to start is at:
http://www.electricscotland.com/history/genhist/
MacGeorge