Don't Read in the Closet: Volume Four (32 page)

That evening Tahir sat in the noisy second level mess hall eating

the surprisingly good food supplied to the lowest ranks. His

countrymen buzzed about the stimulating duel, their time in

Stormhelm and the exciting sights now open to them. The troubled

Tahir dwelled on the one strange instant when Gustav… flirted with

him. The moment made no sense! Tahir had heard a beautiful,

goddess-like daughter of a Septian wizard had wed the King to secure

union with Domas, the mystic Western realm. If such a marvelous

woman occupied his bed, why did he flirt with a nameless recruit?

A boisterous elbow violating Tahir’s right ribcage spilled his

water. He jerked his startled gaze toward the grinning Fuinur. “Hey,

pretty boy, another noble stares at you.”

“What?

“A tall, noble-looking fellow fixes his stare on you. My, my,

Tahir, you’re quite the noble magnet.”

Tahir blinked and stared at his fellow Curamian. “What mean

you?”

Fuinur shook his bald, tattooed head and supplied Tahir a

lecherous smile. “By the Dancing Snake, for a comely lad you act

dense. Come, do you think the king singled you out for a casual duel?

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Nay, he likes your fair features. Now another old noble rolls his gaze

over your pretty face although he looks more sour than seductive.”

“Stop calling me pretty.”

“Why? Your teeth are intact, your sculpted nose suffers from one

break, your black hair is healthy, and only one scar mars your facial

flesh.” Fuinur poked the red line snaking across Tahir’s nose. “In my

world you are pretty.”

A low growl escaped Tahir’s throat. He swore he wanted to slash

his flesh to mar his looks. He blamed his appearance for his life’s

many sorrows. Still, why destroy an asset?

The recruit glanced over at the tall, rugged man watching him

with narrowed eyes. The Curamian swallowed deeply. This stern man

looked far from friendly. Who was he? The imposing man walked into

the mess hall. Tahir watched the noble talk to a table of recruits

already entered into city guard training. The black-clad noble walked

over to Tahir’s table.

The unknown noble’s arrival prompted the recruits scramble to

their feet and bow low. They had already learned to err on caution’s

favorable flank.

Ainar impatiently gestured his fingers downward. “At ease, gnats.

Sit down and finish eating… except you.” Ainar pointed directly at

Tahir’s long nose. He imperiously crooked his pointer finger in full

insult. “You, boy, come with me.”

Boy? An unwelcome flush warmed Tahir’s swarthy skin. He

despised this man’s casual rudeness. Tahir climbed over the bench

and reluctantly followed Ainar from the mess hall. The noble pointed

toward a small storage chamber steps away from the mess hall. Now

what happened?

Ainar shut the rough-planked door. “Sit down, brave duelist.”

“My lord?” Tahir sank to a box on the floor.

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The advisor leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his

silk-clad chest. His penetrating gaze examined the chiseled face. The

clean features blended into classic male poetry. No wonder Gustav

wanted this striking man. “I watched this afternoon’s duel and wonder

why a nameless boy displays such advanced skills?”

What an insulting ass. Tahir fidgeted with his vest’s coarsely

finished edges and decided to say as little as possible. This cold-eyed

noble unnerved him. He hated this small, ill-lit chamber. Sliding

mayhem triggered sharp memories in his mind. “I was well trained,

Lord.”

“That’s fairly obvious. Where did you train?”

“In Curamia, Lord.”

A low, annoyed growl rattled Ainar’s thick throat. “Well, boy, I

certainly don’t think you trained in Ashwood Glen under High-Mage

Julius’s tender care. Where in Curamia?”

What happened here? An angry spark spiraled into Tahir’s brain.

“Why do you ask me, Lord?”

How bold of this boy. Ainar adopted his finest judgmental tone.

“Because I am Lord Ainar Halder, chief advisor to King Gustav, and I

like to know who aspires to become a palace guard. I also take a

personal interest in anyone who engages the king in a duel.”

Filthy panic filled Tahir’s soul. He tried to remain firm. He had

done nothing wrong! “Lord Ainar, I did not engage the king in a duel.

He came to watch the skirmishes and selected me. I didn’t think I

owned the option to refuse but now that I see what unwanted attention

the duel brings me, I wished I had refused.”

A voice relentless as a north winter wind beat at Tahir. “Why

don’t you want the attention, boy? What do you hide?”

“A man is entitled to his privacy, Lord.” Tahir dropped his voice

in gossamer mockery. “Even the king agrees with me on the matter.”

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“What an arrogant sandworm! Fine, harbor your secrets. Let me

tell you I will watch you. You are my new project. I will seek daily

reports on you and if something displeases me, you will return to your

sun-washed land in a flash. Do I make myself clear?” Ainar uncoiled

from his stance against the wall and loomed over Tahir’s seated

position. “Do I?”

“Yes, Lord. Captain Ivar will feel more than pleased to report on

me.”

“Why is that?”

“He doesn’t trust me. I sense his questioning emotions. The only

man in Stormhelm brave enough to trust me is the king himself

and…”

Before Tahir continued, Ainar held up his imposing right hand.

“You believe dueling with the king grants you his protection?”

“I merely make a truthful observation, Lord.” Tahir squarely met

Ainar’s icy glare and offered a tendril of his own inner fire.

Interrogations, unspoken accusations, and this wretched small room

distressed his composure.

“Do you now? How clever of you. I’ve heard enough. Return to

your food, boy.” Ainar insultingly waved the stiff with anger man

away from him.

Tahir stood, bowed and hastened from the small chamber.

Ainar pressed his fingers to his lips to tamp down his laughter.

This time Gustav selected a lively male who possessed a working

brain and a sharp tongue. They should make a remarkable pair. Ainar

liked the lad’s defiance. If Tahir had acted servile or cunning, the

protective advisor would have sent him away without a second

thought. For now he’d give this Tahir Noname the benefit of the

doubt. Ainar still planned to closely observe the recruit. It was his

royal duty to his friend.

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When Tahir returned to finish his meal, Fuinur grinned in

insinuation. “Ah, noble magnet, plan a little moonlight stroll with

someone special tonight?”

Tahir clenched his fist and frowned in annoyance. “Shut up.”

Fuinur slapped Tahir’s shoulder and released a good-natured

laugh.

His hunger had fled. Tahir wondered why his new life insisted on

turning complicated. After a week in Stormhelm, Tahir had

experienced a King’s flirtation and an advisor’s threats. His new life

swerved far from normal.

After their meal, the recruits changed the sheets on their bunks.

The small band of Curamians remained together in the cavernous

barracks. During the past month of travel to Astridia, Tahir had grown

used to their lively company. He enjoyed the childish insults and

teasing erupting behind him in his native tongue. The comforting,

familiar sounds grounded him.

Tahir finished tucking the rough sheets around the straw-stuffed

mattress. The hard mattress offered little comfortable, but the platform

provided a better place to rest than a blanket atop rough ground.

He raked his fingers through his hair. The brass and turquoise

beads braided into his narrow front braids remained intact.

Maintaining their cultural identity heartened the recruits. The king left

it to them to decide when to fit in.

Tahir faced the wall and stripped down to his loincloth. Fuinur’s

familiar taunting voice soared over the talk. “Come now boys, is

Tahir’s body fit for a king?”

Someone needed to shut up. Tahir whirled around and frowned in

annoyance. “Fuinur, stop your words. This body is hopefully fit for a

palace guard uniform and nothing more.”

Numetor joined in the merry teasing. “Oh ho, did I miss

something here? Pretty Tahir, will you be moving into the palace

sooner then we think?”

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“No! Now leave me be.” Their playful laughter stiffened his back

muscles. Tahir burrowed into his narrow bed and yanked the cotton

sheet over his head. Long after the lights dimmed, he lay there staring

into the darkness punctuated by sleep sounds. The confused Curamian

wondered if his second week planned to spiral out of control.

THE SUMMONS

Captain Ivar frowned sourly at the tall palace guard. He shrugged

in annoyance. “Brother Bergil, what is this world coming to?”

Bergil shrugged. “Not my place to say, Captain.”

Turning Ivar sternly pointed his gnarled finger across the practice

ring. “Tahir Noname, come here.”

Tahir looked up from preparing for a sparring match. Confusion

replaced his anticipation. What now? He paced across the hot sand.

“Captain?”

Ivar mockingly jerked his head up toward the obsidian palace

brooding over the city’s messy sprawl. “Well, my cunning warrior,

you’re to accompany Brother Bergil to the palace.”

Deep apprehension flooded Tahir’s soul. Damn, his ninth day in

Stormhelm had flowed along normally; now this strange kink ruined

any hope of normal. He instinctively questioned the summons. “Why

am I wanted there, Captain?”

Unbelievable! The old drill instructor barely halted from

backhanding the mouthy boy. “I don’t know and it’s not my place to

ask. It isn’t your place to ask either, you impertinent savage! Do as

you’re told and go.”

Panic and blossoming anger attacked Tahir’s mind. He anxiously

pressed on. “But Captain, Sir, I merely ask who wants me there.”

One weathered fist gripped Tahir’s cotton vest. Ivar jerked Tahir

forward. The captain’s voice shaded into cruel disgust. “Are you

utterly deaf, my arrogant pup? Does sand fill your ears or does your

prissy, beaded hair halt sound from freely entering? I know you’re not

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stupid, but if you maintain your audacious defiance, I might change

my initial opinion of your brain capacity. Stop asking inane questions,

dress and take your sword with you!” Ivar thrust Tahir’s body away

from him.

Tahir staggered back two steps until he steadied himself. His

seeking mind caught on the last words. His sword? Enlightenment

flared up. If he needed his sword, the king requested him. Tahir hoped

he met Gustav and not Ainar. Another meeting with the steely-eyed

advisor promised disaster. He hoped practice awaited him, not

preaching or, please, by the Burning Sands no, dreaded discovery. Did

banishment loom in his future?

The curious men watched the small drama. Tahir refocused his

thoughts and mentally shook himself back to reality. Act positive.

Stop fretting. He walked to his sword. His fingers swiftly buckled his

battered leather scabbard around his hips and sheathed his sword. He

shrugged on his vest.

Before Tahir took one step forward, Ivar brutally grabbed a

muscular right arm. His fingers pressed the hard muscle. “What do

you think you’re doing, my fancy boy?”

Fresh confusion mixed with Tahir’s constant simmering anger.

Tingling force built in his chest and clenched his already worried

heart. What did he do wrong now? Tahir stared at the tanned sinewy

hand forcefully squeezing his bicep. To him it looked like a beige

spider attacked his brown skin. Great effort made his words sound