Rasnake(13)

The duke's castle was shockingly remote, but again—this was an isolated country, and entire self-sufficient. With the re-emergence of the dragons, too, there would be less time to reach out to the broader world. Never mind Marden was apparently so mad he had to be locked away. Milton had always said Marden never seemed quite right, but they hadn't imagined things had gotten this bad.

Given half a chance, Tallant didn't doubt that Irene would fix matters. But first the wards, dragons, and missing women would have to be addressed. He was ill-equipped to help with the dragons and missing women, but he could do something about the words, hopefully.

Henry would be his best source of information, or at least on where to get the information he needed, such as why Marden had not kept at least one mage on hand, in case of a problem such as this. The Great Sorcerers were long gone, and very little known about them, but anything was better than nothing. Well, he would take of the matter as best he could. Barring further incidents, he would have someone take him to the place where the wards had fallen in the morning.

He looked up as the door opened again.

"Our things should be clean and ready for us in the morning," Milton said. "Dinner is about ready."

Tallant nodded and finished rinsing off, drying off as he moved to the bed, where someone had thoughtfully laid clean clothes. Pulling on brown trousers and a matching under tunic, then a rich blue and green tunic, he sat down to pull on his boots. "Your brother came by while you were gone. He fled when he saw me naked."

Milton rolled his eyes, and did not reply. Snickering, Tallant stood up and strapped his weapons back into place. "I shall leave you to your bath, and see you downstairs." Waving, he left, closing the door and then quickly heading downstairs.

The smell of food made his stomach growl, and Tallant kept to the edge, where he could observe without getting in the way. Earlier, the hall had been empty of all but the long table nearest the great fireplace. Now, the tables and benches stacked neatly against one wall had been brought out and arranged in three long columns, broken up into three rows, of tables and benches.

"Bit of beer, my lord?" a servant girl asked shyly, approaching him with a tray.

Tallant smiled at her, making the girl flush. "No lord am I, but thank you, milady."

Giggling, the girl departed, handing out beer to the other people beginning to filter in. There were not nearly as many people as there should have been, Tallant saw. The castle should be teeming with life, near to bursting with people and activity. Instead, the group that slowly gathered barely filled a third of the tables.

No wonder Cecil's eyes held so much sadness. Tallant looked at the others in the room—priests, servants, a small smattering of soldiers, even fewer nobles, and a handful of foreigners who no doubt thought it wiser to stay in the castle than to wander out of it to get home.

What little they had seen of the rest of the country had not seemed alarmed. Tallant supposed it was because the dragons simply had not gotten that far. No doubt that was due primarily to the efforts of Cecil and his thieves.

A lull in the chatter drew his attention, and Tallant turned to see that Cecil and his friends had arrived. Tallant could not take his eyes off Cecil. He truly was beautiful—the hard edge, the braided hair, the confidence of a warrior and those sad, sad eyes. Clearly he'd washed again, but this time he had dressed in finery, though it was toned down.

His tunic was handsome, jet black trimmed in silver—and across the chest, embroidered in brown, green, and red, was an apple tree. His friends were also dressed in black, but their tunics bore only the dragon and sword symbol.

Spotting Henry, Tallant motioned to him. A few minutes later, Henry excused himself from the men he was speaking to and joined Tallant. "How can I help you, Master Tallant?"

"Merely satisfy my curiosity," Tallant replied. "What is the significance of the apple tree crest?"

"Ah," Henry said. "That is Her Grace's personal seal. It has some special meaning to the two of them, but they have never shared it with anyone else."

"I see," Tallant said.

"You're to sit at the high table," Henry said. "If you'll come—ah, good evening, Master Milton. Right this way then." Tallant turned to nod briefly at Milton, who looked as sharp as his brother, dressed in deep red trimmed in black. But Milton did not grab him the way Cecil did. Milton had always been his brother, his friend, even if both their lives would have been easier if they'd been lovers.

They followed as Henry led them to the high table and indicated their seats, before taking his own. The seats in the center were obviously for the duke and duchess—but one was vacant, save for a sword belt holding a single long sword hung over the back of it. Beside him, Milton made a rough, choking sound. Tallant turned to him and said, "We'll find her, alive, and set everything to rights."

Milton nodded, but said nothing.

In the other seat, Cecil sat speaking quietly with the eldest of his thieves until a bell rang, and everyone lapsed into silence. Tallant listened solemnly as first the priests spoke, and then Cecil, speaking for Mary, for Lily, about the women still missing.

He was an impressive speaker, but that did not really surprise Tallant—Milton was good at it too, when he had sufficient motivation to bother. It really was amusing how alike they were. After Milton left, their lives could not have been more different—one venturing off, one remaining behind—and yet they still had turned out so much the same.