Prologue

The curtains of the room were as black as the wings of the raven that sat in his little cage on the low table. On the floor, pillows were spread, covering it; on the naked areas, where the ceramic floor might have been exposed, rags of different furs covered it. Leaning against the wall was a featherbed, canopied with curtains of crimson and silver, right next to it stood a little table, and above it, standing straight as a soldier was a little, red candle, burning with the fading scent of roses. The silver-painted walls were covered by many pictures of colorful birds and butterflies, of beaches and snowy mountains, making the room look peaceful. A stuffed red fox sat on the floor, looking almost alive, his glass eyes gazing emptily at the room; a huge stuffed lion defended the bed, his mouth slightly ajar, revealing his gleaming white fangs, like ice stalactites. From a torch on the wall descended emerald sake, hissing quietly, his scales shining in the dim light of the torch, almost unnatural. 

Meerak stepped into the room, his boots sinking into the soft pillows on the floor. The raven screamed and flapped its wings. Meerak stopped; it seemed that the bird did not approve of his being there. He felt misplaced in this room of beauty and richness, with his ragged clothes, stained by blood and mud, with his heavy wool cloak the dripping mud on the floor. He hasn't shaved in weeks now, and his brown beard grew long and shaggy on his cheeks and chin, his hair was thick with blood and mud; his whole appearance seemed tired and filthy. If he had time to shave and shower he would have done so, but the command was urgent, and he was given no time to prepare, nor even rest before attending the Lady.

"M'lady," he said, addressing the canopied bed, where a pair of sapphire eyes observed him with amusement. "I have come from the wars, as you commanded."

He heard the slightest noise of blankets removed and the brush of flesh against the sheets, and from behind the crimson and silver curtains emerged a long, pale leg; on the bony ankle was a silver anklet, set with small, round sapphires. A hand moved the curtains slowly, long pale fingers with long, pink fingernails and silver bracelets, matching to the one on the ankle. The curtains moved slowly to reveal her body, covered only with the thinnest little nightgown, in the shade of foggy pink.

Lady Grace, she was called, and with reason as well. Her face was gentle looking, her cheeks rosy and her pink lips slightly plump and prettily shaped; her cheekbones were high, though her nothing in her face was even slightly droopy. Her eyes seemed to be in the shape of almonds, slightly slanted and blue as the sapphires on her wrists. Long, black lashes veiled her ayes, curling up like small, black fans. Her neck was long and tender and at the end of it she wore a silver collar, to match with her bracelets and anklet, and chains of purls, diamonds and gems, falling from her neck to her chest, curving at the shape of her breasts. A fall of hazel hair fell on her shoulders, smooth and silky, and set with dozens of purls.  Her body was thin and pale, her belly flat and her ribs stretching the skin of her chest. Her breasts seemed small and firm, beautifully shaped. Meerak gaze started to move down her body when her voice reminded him his manners.

"Ser Meerak Sunfroze, isn't it?" she asked, her lips moving slowly, as if to tease him. His throat was too dry to speak, so he managed a quick nod.

She rose from the bed, slowly coming near him, nearer with every soft step. She smiled gently as she brushed her hand against the stuffed lion's head. "The wars you said, and what war would that be?"

That notion cleared his head. "Why, the Wars of Trades. The traders of the Grim Islands have closed our ports with their warships and they're drowning our trading galleys one by one." The Islands were important for the passing of rich fabrics from the east, also the wine and apples, raisins and the black woods that were good for building ships and castles. Six months the war has passed, and the end was far from showing, with those Islanders swarming their ports and harbors, sinking their ships and galleys and taking the goods as hostages. Some of those Islanders have invaded the lands, and it was Meerak and other soldiers who were fighting them for the last two months. Many died, and others were dying still, as he stood in the calm room of Lady Grace of the Marble Tower.

"That makes no sense." She declared. "If there was such war I would definitely hear of it. I believe you're mistaking." Her eyes met his, as if it was first she saw him. "And no wonder! Look at yourself, you're soaked with mud, and is that blood?" her fingers brushed his shoulder, where he recently took wound in battle, the touch hurt him and he flinched. "It is! My poor Ser, you should wash and rest." She began to undo his cloak. Out of nowhere, two maids entered the room with a steaming bath and dry towels. He took one step back before he could give in for the sleepiness of his mind.

"M'lady, I haven't come here for rest. You've summoned me." He said, holding his loosing cloak from falling. The woman only looked at him, puzzled.

"Indeed, I have, but I've forgotten what for." Her soft lips curled to a smile that made him almost forget is objection, "I'm quite sure I'll remember by the time you'll bath and rest for a while." She moved her hair behind her shoulder; Meerak finally realized he could not win this. "As you command," he bowed his head.

She helped him to undo his cloak, peeling it off his wounds, where the blood already dried. He insisted that she will not help him with his mail and breeches, knowing that he will not be able to resist his impulses if she'll touch him any farther.

His wounds were quite severe, he noted. Meerak stopped feeling pain after the first month of fighting, knowing that no good will come from whining and the only way to keep his mind from the agony was -how ironic- more fighting. He had a long cut on his ribs, stretching to his thigh, though not deep enough to cause severe damage. Another wound was the one on his shoulder, where an arrow had hit him only a day ago, he couldn't lift his left arm without feeling a wave of hot agony, and the blood pounding trough his arm. There were other wounds, minor though, and shallow cuts as well. Well, a soldier couldn't give too much mind to every little cut, could he?

"Get in the water, you're so dirty" said Lady Grace and pointed on the steaming bath, nothing in the world seemed more inviting at that moment, perhaps some food and wine, but that might have been greediness.

He slipped slowly, not remembering the last time he felt so warm and relaxed, he felt his cold body slowly unfreezing and the dust and blood washing away, the steams made his head spin, and for a few moments he was dazing, not caring anymore about the wars outside and his fellow soldiers, just him and the warmness. "Gods have mercy…" he whispered, grateful. He sank deeper in the tub, and closed his tired eyes.

He must've fell asleep, for when he opened his eyes the room was dimmer and the candles that were high with the flame when he entered now burned low and quiet. The water, though, remained warm. He rose and grabbed for the towels the handmaids brought when the whisper of fabrics from the bed caught his mind.

"M'lady?" he asked, and a giggle answered him. "So you're awake, finally.  I almost thought you were dead." Lady Grace slipped from behind the canopy of her bed. She no longer wore her little nightgown, but wore an azure robe of silk, with white lace of its collar and sleeves, it tightened around her narrow waist by a belt of silver silk, tied tightly. She was no longer barefoot as well; a silver leather sandal was strapped around her feet and calves. Her hair was braided with beads of blue and azure and a pair of diamond earrings fell down to the length of her shoulders.

Meerak stepped from the tub, dripping water on the pillows that covered the ground, he took the towel and wrapped it around his waist, it was warm and soft, but he had need of clothes, and so he told Lady Grace.

"I've prepared clothes for you; I hope they'll fit your taste." She said and from the bed she took a pile of dry clothes in the colors of green and blue. Meerak never liked any fancy clothes; his tunics and rough breeches were all he owned, and they were pretty much colorless, but he knew better than showing such ungratefulness, so he took the clothes.

It was a shirt of cotton with wide sleeves, colored azure; above it he had a leather jerkin, painted moss green that matched the breeches she gave him. He was given a pair of black boots and blue leggings, all very simply cut and fitting perfectly to his measures. He loosened his brown hair from the short soldier braid it was in and brushed his fingers trough his beard. If felt better to be clean. 

"Thank you, m'lady, but if you now tell me for what purpose you summoned me…"

"That can wait; you are still lack of sleep. I ought to prepare a room for you, yet this will be much trouble for such a late hour, you shall sleep in my bed."  The emerald snake crawled from the torch hilt to the floor, and across the floor, wrapping around Lady Grace's leg.

A snake, the thought fogged in Meerak's head. A seven headed snake… my Lord has commanded… but the thought soon blurred and vanished into the sleepiness. When did he get so tired?

"M'lady, the war…" he tried once again, but she only grabbed the collar of his shirt and tossed him toward the bed, he tripped and fell behind the curtains, on soft pillows of black velvet. He felt abashed that a woman managed to trip him, and this bony little thing that couldn't even reach the height of his shoulder, was he that weak and tired? Or perhaps this woman had more than it seemed. But there was one woman who could trip me… my Lord…He closed his eyes and the thoughts were gone. 

"I shall have none of this." She said, her voice commanding. "You will not talk this nonsense of war any longer. It is impossible. You made a long way from the Gates and you should rest." She moved the curtains, her sapphire eyes gleamed.

"But I did not come from the Gates…" he tried, but she only put her soft hand over his mouth." You will sleep." She said sharply, and then turned to the room, "but first you must shave this ugly thing off your face."

Meerak sighed, too tired to argue. He rose from the bed and followed the woman, her long braided hair moving freely on her slim back, and the silk of her robe moving softly. She opened one of the drawers and took out a razor. "This will do." She declared.  Meerak stepped closer; his beard was indeed shaggy and wild. At peace he often shaved it, but wars were not meant for grooming. Or was the war only a faint dream? He wasn't quite sure now.

"Come closer, Ser Sunfroze" Lady Grace grinned, there was something awfully chilling about this grin. The snake was still wrapped around her leg; the raven in the cage flapped its wings. Meerak came closer.

"This thing is so ugly." Complained Lady Grace as she observed his beard, moving his head softly to one side, and then another. "I despise ugly things." She declared and wet his beard with water from a ceramic bowl, was there a bowl there earlier? The razor shone with the dim light of torch and candles, the snake on the Lady's leg hissed and a raven flapped its wing.

"It won't take long." She promised as she moved the razor toward his chin. He had to ask, "Are you certain there is no war?"

"Certain."

The curtains of the room were as black as the wings of the raven that sat in its little cage on the low table. On the floor, pillows were spread, covering it. A raven in its cage screamed, a snake on a long leg hissed, a stuffed lion gazed with empty eyes on the room, judging yet saying not a word, his mouth slightly ajar, revealing his fangs, his long, gleaming fangs. Her eyes were sapphire set in the pale skin, so pretty she was, and graceful. I give my heart and sword to the Seven Gates, seven entries of Hell.

Warm blood rushed from his neck, he felt faint as he fell on the pillow-covered floor; the snake hissed at him, mocking. My Lord has commanded. Now he remembered. The room fell into darkness.

So long, and thanks for all the fish.

FoolMoon