The song of the hammer beat out a rhythm in her blood. Hard metals being coaxed into smooth, elegant curves, and blades that could kill with but a slice? How exciting! The red-hot flames and the glow of heated iron? Mesmerizing. Wherever there was fire, Rhiana felt soothing comfort. And the exquisite reassurance of gold, on the rare occasions Paul worked the supple metal to a fine sheet to leaf armor, ever beckoned.
Rhiana slipped into the shop and padded across the swept stone floor. The armory was circular, the south half sporting the brazier and works in progress. The north half was set up with a massive oak table for detail and leatherwork.
Bent over the flame, Paul concentrated on a curve of metal heated to vibrant amber. Paul Tassot was Rhianas mothers husband. He was not her father, but had married Lydia when Rhiana was three.
Rhiana did not know her real father. For all purposes, a man had been in her life from the time of her birth until she was two. One Jean Cesar Ulrich Villon III; he was not her father either, though he had been married to her mother. Villon had abandoned her and her mother without reason or word. Lydia had cried for a seennight following. Even so small, Rhiana had wondered would her mothers tears flood their home and sweep them both out to the sea, never again to be found, and so far away from flame and the family she loved.
As she grew older, many questions busied Rhianas thoughts. But when asked, Lydia Tassot would not speak of Rhianas origins. Rhiana suspected her mother must have been violated, or, in her more lusty imagination, she wondered had her mother an affair with a powerful lord or a fancy traveling courtier.
Either way, Rhiana had taken to Paul Tassot, who had been a mainstay in her life for twenty years. Just riding the end of his fifth decade, he possessed kind blue eyes that never looked upon Rhiana with the exasperated frustration Lydias eyes often held. And he was supportive of her quest. When Lydia scoffed at Rhiana taking off with a slayer to hone her skills, upon her return, Paul would question her every lesson with great fascination. What is he teaching you? Do you feel confident? How can I help? And under his breathtouch any flame this day?
Paul looked up from his task. Ah!
After an incident with sickness last summer all of Pauls hair had fallen out. Now, recovered and healthy thanks to Odettes infamous comfrey poultice, he continued to shave off the new growth. Rhiana liked his shiny bald pate. It was soft and round, like his giving heart. The man embodied integrity in his simple manner and devotion to his family.
He flashed her a brilliant smile, and with a shrug, worked his shoulders against the rounding hours leaning over the anvil forged into his muscles. A nod of his head summoned Rhiana to his side.
The glowing curve of iron he held with tongs could not be left unattended, so he divided his attention between it and her. A forceful pound of the hammer clanged the molten metal and sparks danced out like fire sprites.
Come from the caves?
Rhiana nodded as she reached behind her waist to itch at the leather points securing her tunic to the mail chausses.
Was it as you suspected? he asked.
Yes, and no. There may be more than one of them, Rhiana explained. I didnt have a chance to focus and count, but certainly there could be another.
Another?
Yes, I sensed another heartbeat afterOh, Paul! I took out a female rampant.
You did? He winked and smiled broadly. So much pride in that look. Another pound. Sparks glittered in the air between them. So the armor is good?
Rhiana dropped the wool cloak to a puddle around her feet. The entire armored tunic glittered with the mystique of the beasts. Fashioned from dragon scales, the iridescent disks changed from indigo to violet beneath the sun. Paul had smoothed the sharp edges and pierced holes in each scale with such care. After much trial and error, hed discovered the only tool capable of piercing the scale was an actual dragons talon or tooth. Hed designed a small inner tooth, which the beast used for ripping its prey apart, as a punch.
Its remarkable.
Rhiana felt no embarrassment standing before Paul in the flesh-baring costume. But the backs of her arms and a narrow slit down each side of her torso showed. Paul had worked with her to fit the scales to her body to provide maximum movement along with minimal weight and excess attire. It was he who had suggested she wear a thin tunic beneath, for her modesty, but they both knew Rhiana would be sewing many a tunic should her slaying skills ever be called upon.
Change in the closet, he said, turning the curve of molten iron, held with a pincers, to begin working the opposite side. The dry metallic scent of heated iron was most pleasant to Rhianas senses. The gown you keep stashed in there waits. Did no one see you reenter the village?
Rudolph is most discreet, Rhiana called as she slipped into the tool closet and closed the creaky wood door.
Only because you have cowed him over the years, Paul said. With a laugh, he again hammered at the supple metal.
They both felt it important to keep Rhianas slaying discreet. Certainly the threat to the village must be dispatched. But so many had difficulty accepting a female as a powerful and strong force.
It dumbfounded Rhiana. Why should she not be allowed to perform the same tasks as men?
Inside the closet, her eyes strayed across the items on the many supply shelves. Splaying her fingers across a tray of wire rings shed fashioned a few days earlier made her smile. Crafting mail, she enjoyed. Almost as much as slaying.
She unfastened the leather straps placed from armpit to hip neatly concealed with overlapping dragon scales. The leather tunic slipped from her body, baring her breasts. Tugging out the slips of burnt tunic from around her neck and at her waist, she tossed them into the waste barrel.
Exhaling deeply, Rhiana thrust back her shoulders and lifted her arms over her head in a languorous stretch. So alive, she felt. Vigorous and strong. A flex of her arm bulged the muscle above her elbow. Like a mans muscles, she mused. Constant training with the sword and working with Paul kept her muscles hard. And that hard work had paid off.
The moment she had stood before the dragon, defiant, had truly been a pinnacle. For her only other kill had been assisted. This one was all her own.
Im a real slayer, she murmured. Finally.
A folded blue-gray gown waited on the shelf. For emergencies, which is why she hadnt left one of her two pairs of braiesshe used those daily. Bits of dried lavender fell from between the folds as she shook it out.
Slipping the ells of soft damask over her head, Rhiana shimmied into the plain gown. Once silver vair had rimmed the hems of her sleeves, but the fur tickled overmuch, so shed stripped it and gave it to Odette to sew onto a pair of house slippers. Rich as the village was, traders rarely visited, so fur of any sort was highly valued.
She stroked the gold coin suspended around her neck on a thin leather strip. Barter was the only form of purchase; coin had little value.
Shucking the mail chausses in a chinking pool about her bare feet, she then peeled down the wool hose, which were still connected to the points of her tattered tunic, fried to a crisp as they were. The softness of the damask fluttering about her legs felt ridiculous. So light, not at all protective. The gown wasnot her. Many were accustomed to seeing her wear braies and tunic, but on occasion she did wear a gown. Only a gown caressed her waist and bosom and revealed to a man that, indeed, she was a woman. Look at me, she felt the gown called when she wore one.
And what be wrong with seeking a mans attentions?
Still, many whispered as she strode by, defying propriety in her comfortable male costume. And to even consider her ambition? A female who dons armor and wields a crossbow? Insanity.
Carefully, she placed the armor upon the wooden stand and covered it with a tarp of boiled leather. While every man in the village was aware of her passion, they had not seen this latest armor made by Paul. Even those who looked to her with hope for their safety would be horrified. Women simply did not tromp about in mail and armor, acting powerful and flexing their muscles as a man.
Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Rhiana stepped back from the armor. Thick, loose curls tumbled across her back and swept about her waist. Ever teased as a child for her red hair and frecklessurely a witch, be sheRhiana had come to accept her differences, but only after being assured by the village hag that she was not a witch.
Something so much more
The hag, known to all as the Nose, after reading Rhianas future in the flames of a hearth fire, had flashed her a frightened grimace and shuffled her out from her cottage.
So much more?
Indeed.
CHAPTER THREE
As opposed to setting up a small bake shop in her own home, Rhianas mother worked in the castle kitchen. Lydia rose before the sun and wandered home late in the evening. It was a labor of love, for Lydia was the castles pastry chef, and delighted many with her designs fashioned from sugar, nuts and honey. Holidays such as Lent and Midsummer, were made all the more festive with Lydias creations gracing the high table.
Odette, Rhianas half-sister, would be either at home fretting over some bits of lace to attach to her sleeves or in the castle kitchen sampling Lydias wares. Odette strove for little in life, save a plump waistline to attract a fine and fruitful husband. Though she did favor the medical artsstitching up wounded knights landed high on her list of activities.
None in St. Rénan strove for much more than a simple life filled with all the luxury that could be managed. Thanks to the hoard, the village thrived. Where most cities and villages paid the taille to their lord, St. Rénan had developed its own form of reverse-taille, paying to each citizen a yearly stipend. One would think the entire city lazy and roustabouts, but that was not so. Every able body worked hard, and in return celebrated the fruits of their labors with fine furnishings, elegant clothing and always food on the table. Starvation was not something the people of St. Rénan understood, for should the crops be poor one summer, a trek to a neighboring village, or even a sojourn to the debauched city of Paris, to purchase food was undertaken. Anything could be had for a price.
The Hoard Council, formed by Pascal Guiscard three decades earlier, monitored the disbursements and insured none in the village became slackards. If you did not pull your weight, you did not receive the stipend. Very few were thrown into the dungeons for shirking their duties. The village was small, working as a companionable hive. All guarded the secret with a blood oath taken before Lord Guiscard upon their sixteenth birthday.
Bi-yearly hoard-raids were celebrated with a fête and great bonfire (which, Rhiana mused, was lit in defiance of the dragons). Though, not many had been venturing beyond the curtain walls the past few days.
So Rhianas trip through the city this morn was met with little but the stray pig from Dame Gemmas stables snorting in the onions and cress planted outside the womans three-story manor. Children were kept safe behind closed door, or close in sight splashing in a nearby puddle or playing stones with a neighboring child.
Rhiana gave no regard to the half-dozen knights who marched purposefully toward herin full armor, as usual. Though Lord Guiscards knights were called to little warfare, and even less martial exercise, Rhiana had decided they wore the full armor to look opposing. And to attract the opposite sex. There were many marriageable young women in St. Rénan; wenching was one of the knights favorite exercises.
Champrey, Guiscards seneschal, strode in the lead. He was hounded by a rank of hulking shoulders and rugged, dirty glares.
The men in the village were so desperately primal. Baths were rare, for the claim of little physical exertion kept them clean. Yet, much as Odette was always complaining of the knights awkwardly amorous attempts to seduce her, Rhiana had never fielded an unwarranted touch from any. She knew what the men thought of her. Not right, mayhap a witch. Certainly not feminine. She did try, when she thought of it. But emulating Lady Annes walk always saw Rhiana tripping over her own feet.
But did the men in the village, at the very least, see her as a woman?
Obviously not. It was only when Rhiana had developed breasts that Rudolphs father had admonished him not to play with her. She was a girl, not the boy his father had thought her. Fortunately, Rudolph had never cared one way or the other. Their friendship remained strong; like siblings, they continued to taunt, torment, and love one another.
Rhiana craved a kind look from a manany man who was not Rudolph or Paul. And, perhaps, not so kind a look as a promising one. Something that said to her, I favor you. Your strength does not frighten me. I can accept without fear or jealousy.
For those were the reasons no man approached her. They feared her independence. They were jealous of her strength.
Sighing, and striding onward, Rhiana realized the band of knights had stopped before her. Armor clattered and gauntlets clinked about sword hilts. Not a one would make a move to allow her passage.
Demoiselle, Champrey sneered. He did have a way of sneering his speech. It ever gave Rhiana a tickle. He wasnt half so villainous as his lord and master, but he certainly tried to compete. My lord wishes an audience with you.
Oh? Well, but Ive A hungry belly to fill. And a certain lusty baron to avoid.
Immediately.
What could Lord Guiscard want with her? Had someone witnessed her entry into the village, sans proper clothing and wearing but the dragon scale armor? She was ever vigilant of the men who sat in the towers placed upon the battlement walls.
I was on to the kitchen to speak to my mother. Does Lord Guiscard wish me to speak to Lady Anne?
Rhiana often visited Lady Anne. Upon her arrival three years ago, the lady of St. Rénan had taken a liking to Rhiana and frequently requested she tend her in her solar. Anne allowed Rhiana to comb her hair and plait it, one of the rare feminine skills Rhiana possessed.
Hold your tongue and follow me, wench.
So that was the way of it, eh? She hated being labeled wench.
Shrugging, Rhiana followed Champreys sulking steps, and as she did, felt the ranks close about her. Lifting her skirts to keep the mud from lacing the hem, she cursed her lack of shoes.
An escort to Lord Guiscard? No good could come of this.
They entered the castle through the iron doors that stretched two stories high. Grinning stone gargoyles sporting lion heads and eagle bodies overlooked the human cavalcade. A three-legged mutt bounced past Rhiana as she moved swiftly through the great hall. Rushes were scattered upon the stone floor, but she did not notice the fennel and mint mixture Lady Anne insisted be sprinkled over all.
Normally Rhianas keen senses picked up every smell, almost to the point of annoyance. Twas nerves, she knew. Anxiety dulled her senses. She did not like being called to Lord Guiscard, unless it concerned Anne. In truth, a summons to speak only to Guiscard had never before happened. Foreboding tightened the muscles in her jaw.