The Doomfarers of Coramonde Read Free Page B

he’d
wanted, because he held the remaining two headbands in clenched teeth.
    Tightening the
second loop, he whirled her around, tripped her and lowered her to the thick
carpet on her stomach, straddling her.
    Alarmed now,
she shrilled, “You mustn’t do this! Listen to me—”
    He’d used the
second headband as a gag. The third he fastened around her vigorously kicking
legs, fettering her at the ankles. Lifting her as carefully as he could manage
under the circumstances, he carried the wildly protesting Duskwind to the bed.
Even then he found himself marveling at the warmth of her smooth, brown-gold
skin and the fragrance of her, as he threw her across the covers. As a
precaution to her thrashing efforts to free herself, he added extra bindings
and, out of modesty, pulled the covers over her, leaving only her head and
graceful feet exposed.
    He bent to peer
into her gray eyes. “I’m sorry,” he told his lover, “but I’m leaving and I’ve
decided that there’s no place for a highborn and gentle Lady on the journey I
mean to make.” At this her eyes went wide and she began to shake her head
violently, attempting to speak through the gag.
    He nodded
sadly. “Yes, I must go and I cannot take you, though life will be desolate
without you.” This last was rather an exaggeration; he looked forward to going
forth a free agent. But he was fond of her, had been happy with her. She had
even consoled him against his pending combat with the vague reassurance that something
would happen to prevent it.
    Well, now
something would.
    Duskwind shut
her eyes tightly in exasperation, then stared imploringly skyward. Perplexed,
he nevertheless decided that he had spent enough time with her. He went to
another chest, dug under some robes of state and drew forth the things he had
assembled for flight. He unlaced his buskins and threw them to one side, took
off his tunic and removed his copper bracelets and bandeau. These he kicked
into a corner, done with them for all time. Turning then to his preparations,
he was arrested by a glimpse of himself in the cheval glass which stood against
the wall. He moved closer and regarded himself, an open-faced young man in his
nineteenth year.
    Smiling
experimentally at the mirror Springbuck was rewarded with a totally
unremarkable smile. He was positive that he would attract no attention or
recognition as the Prince. He felt stirrings of confidence that his escape
would be successful.
    He abruptly
remembered the door and whirled on it in apprehension. It was closed but
unlatched. Thankful that Duskwind’s one outcry had elicited no inquiries, he
darted to the door and shot the bolt to, congratulating himself on his luck
and, at the same time, feeling a growing knot in his stomach, fear reaction
from the events in the throne room and an ache to be away.
    He knew brief
regret that Faurbuhl was not to be found. He had considered taking the old
philosopher with him, though he had revealed nothing of his plans to his
teacher. Indeed, the idea had come full-blown a week before, in the strange
period between waking and sleeping when the mind was most flexible and
receptive. A whisper of a suggestion was enough, and he knew that he must
escape, and in that same moment was galvanized to search out the magician Andre
deCourteney and the madman Van Duyn.
    Forcing himself
to matters at hand, and putting Faurbuhl out of his thoughts, he looked to his
equipment. He had decided upon and surreptitiously collected the costume of a
bravo of Alebowrene, subdominion of Coramonde. Though he knew there would be
several of such men in Earthfast during the High Durbar preceding the death
duel for the throne, the clothing of a servant or merchant would have been less
conspicuous, so that Springbuck approached his adventure with perhaps more
romantic notions than he admitted to himself.
    He donned the
brief cincture, comfortably supple and, in his opinion, overwhelmingly
preferable to stiff, heavy robes of state. He