choose your own adventure, episode 7
“I would be honored,” you say, “to meet Sir Hamus Norsegard.”
Sir Thomas relaxes, just a bit, and you realize he is afraid of you. Or, at least, he did not want to fight you. Understandable, given that you are a Knight of the Soulblade. “Thank you, sir knight. Please, follow me.” He looks at Linus and Ulacht and Richard. “Father, headman, Magistrius, you might as well accompany us.”
Sir Thomas leads you through the village of Victrix to his father’s keep. Victrix looks prosperous enough, but you can see the pall that hangs over the village. People keep to themselves, and mothers pull their children close as Ulacht passes. The aura of fear is plain, and you wonder how long it will be until the villagers do something drastic.
Sir Hamus’s keep is stout and grim, and Thomas leads you to the great hall. Fires blaze merrily in twin hearths, and tapestries on the wall show scenes of Arthur and Lancelot, Garain and the Green Knight, and other legends of Old Earth. Sir Hamus himself, a man of about sixty, sits upon the high seat. He does not look well. If Thomas abandoned exercise, stuffed himself with pastries every day, and aged thirty years, he might look like Hamus.
But you barely notice the old knight.
The two women standing at his side capture your attention.
The first is an old, old woman in a loose black dress, so old that her skin looks like parchment and her hair like tufts of white thread. Her green eyes are amiable and unfocused, and she is humming to herself.
The second woman is quite probably the most beautiful woman you have ever seen. She’s only a few years older than you, clad in a rich green gown, with long red hair and brilliant green eyes. Her features and skin are perfect, absolutely perfect. You realize that you are staring, and it is only with difficulty that you make yourself stop.
“Sir Ridmark Arban,” says Thomas, clearing his throat, “my father and lord of this village, Sir Hamus Norsegard. His wife and my stepmother the Lady Gwenaelle,” he gestures at the stunning woman, who is at least ten years his junior, “and her mother, the Lady Gotha.”
Vaguely you wonder why on earth a woman like Gwenaelle agreed to marry a man like Hamus. Perhaps she is a commoner who married up? But surely she could have captured the eye of a Comes, even a Dux. Or at least a guild merchant with a great deal of gold.
“Thomas!” says Lady Gotha, squinting at you. She totters forward, leaning on her cane. “Is that the man from the village who delivers the bacon? The last batch was spoiled! Young fellow, if you do not deliver my bacon, I shall beat you with my cane.”
“Mother,” murmurs Gwenaelle, taking the old woman’s sleeve, “that man is a Knight of the Soulblade, and our guest.”
“I know that, girl!” says Gotha. “And he sells us poor bacon!”
You notice Thomas’s lips thinning with contempt as he looks at his stepmother and his mother.
“You are welcome here, Sir Ridmark,” says Hamus, his voice weak and watery. “Your aid…your aid would be welcome. You are here about the disappearances, yes? I do not to know what to think. One man says one thing and I believe him, and then another says something else.”
Thomas’s look of contempt does not waver as he glances at his father.
“Thomas,” says Hamus, oblivious or indifferent, “take Sir Ridmark to my solar. I would speak with him in private. Father, headman – you may wait here.”
Thomas takes you to the solar and then leaves you. The room was a good view of the village and of Rzoldur on its hill, and the furniture looks comfortable. There is a carafe of wine upon a sideboard, and you reach for it…
The door opens, and you look up, expecting to see Sir Hamus.
Instead, it is Lady Gwenaelle, and she is alone.
Your throat goes dry, and suddenly your world seems to focus upon her.
“Do you know what it is like,” she says, her rich voice full of pain, “being married to that indolent old fool? Of having to share a bed with that fat slug?” She steps closer, and the smell of her perfume fills your nostrils.
“We’re alone,” you manage to say, “this is not appropriate…”
“I’ve dreamed of a knight coming to take me away from all this,” says Gwenaelle, and she puts her hands upon your shoulders, the touch making your heartbeat hammer like a drum. “Please, take me with you. Do you know how much I’ve wanted a man, a real man, and not that pompous old fool?”
Her lips part, and you realize that she is going to kiss you.
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