The Reluctant Swordsman by Duncan Dave;

Author:Duncan, Dave;
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media Sci-Fi & Fantasy
Published: 2014-04-17T02:50:14+00:00

5

In the marble splendor of the barracks entrance Wallie met the old commissary and asked if Nnanji had returned.

“Oh yes, my lord,” Coningu said, with a look affirming some secret amusement, too precious to spoil by telling.

Wallie, therefore, must not show undignified haste, so he took his time mounting the great staircase. But he hurried up the second stairs and raced along the passage. Silent on his bandages, he crossed the first room to the door of the second, whence came the sound of laughter.

There were three people there, and they were all on the floor, on a sunlit rug. On the right was Jja, posed like a Copenhagen mermaid, as graceful and desirable as he remembered, and it was she who was doing the laughing. On the left was Nnanji, down on knees and elbows with his scabbard sticking up behind him like a tail, generally resembling a dog trying to dig out a rabbit. He was tickling the belly of the third person, a brown, naked, giggling baby.

For a moment the tableau held, one of those scenes that burn into the mind to become instant memories — in the end, what is a lifetime made of but memories? Then they saw him. Jja rose, crossed to him, and dropped on her knees to kiss his foot in one flowing movement. She did not seem to rush, but she had done it before Nnanji had scrambled to his feet in pop-eyed embarrassment.

He said, “I didn’t know if you wanted the baby, too, my liege, so I brought it. You did say belongings. Kikarani says she will take it back if you don’t want it.”

Wallie cleared his throat. “The baby is fine. Would you offer my respects to Master Coningu and ask if he could spare me a moment?”

Nnanji disentangled himself from the baby now climbing his leg and left quickly. Even the backs of his ears were pink.

Wallie looked down at the girl kneeling at his feet and stooped to raise her. He smiled at her, seeing again the high cheekbones that gave her face such a look of strength, and the wide, dark, almond eyes that had fascinated him before. No slender elf-maiden she: tall and large-boned, deep-breasted and strong, yet graceful in her movements and bright-eyed. She was younger than he had thought, but he saw again the corrosion of slavery — chapped hands, and her black hair roughly hacked short. Given a fair chance she would be a great beauty, and he knew that she could be tender. If a swordsman must have a slave, then this was the woman to choose.

She looked in alarm at his face and then down at his other bruises and marks.

“Welcome, Jja,” he said. “I have acquired a few scrapes since we last met. I sent for you because you are so good at caring for damaged swordsmen.”

“I was very happy to hear that I am to be your slave, master.” Her expression was attentive, yet so guarded that he could not guess at her thoughts.

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