‘What was all that?’ said Balin, the moment they were out of the hall. ‘Lord Jesus, lass, you’ve got the wrong end of something.’
‘I have not, Sir Balin. I know exactly what I am doing.’ Bellina led him at speed towards the first side-tower, and then up the stairs. ‘The kiss was not for your benefit. Do not attempt to repeat it.’
‘You what?’
‘It was a message to my father.’
‘You what?’
She sighed. ‘I would not expect you to understand. But now that you’re here I will do a service for my… servant.’ Balin could have sworn she had been on the verge of saying ‘friend’, but he did not believe that the concepts of servant and friend could possibly be linked in Bellina Saunce Pité’s mind.
They climbed a long way up, almost to the top of the revolving tower. ‘Wait in here,’ she told him, pushing open the door of a darkened chamber, which was lit only by a slit of moonlight. ‘She’ll be here shortly.’
‘Who? Columbine?’
‘She’s beaten you here, actually,’ said a small voice from the darkness. ‘Only I’m afraid it’s not your goat-smelling girl.’ Bellina’s bard stepped into the shaft of moonlight. ‘So we meet again, Balin of the Isles. Wotcher to you, my man. Wotcher indeed.’
‘Do you know where Columbine is?’
Elia shook her head, her mousey curls dancing. ‘Come in before you’re seen. Are you joining us, Bellina?’
‘I am going to my bed,’ said Bellina miserably, and disappeared up the stairs.
Balin stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘What’s going on, Elia?’
‘That’s the question, isn’t it. First thing first: can you give me a look at your sword, please?’
Balin found a cushion on the floor and sat down opposite the girl. ‘Which one?’
‘The important one, bucko.’
He detached the Dolorous Stroke from his belt, and handed it to the girl. She went to the window and held the scabbard up to the moonlight, peering at the inscriptions.
‘It’s written in First British, I’m told,’ said Balin.
‘I know it’s in First British. I’ve got First British coming out of my arse.’ Elia paused, thinking through the logic of her turn of phrase. ‘So to speak. Although people who are really in the know call it ur-British nowadays. Do you know what the scabbard says?’
‘Our friend Garnish translated it; it says something like, er:
I’m the Dolorous Stroke
Something about a double quest
In the matter of love
My blade cuts castles
My stroke shall revenge the best friend you have
And this blade shall be her destruction.’
Elia frowned. ‘Really? That’s what this Garnish told you?’
‘That’s what I can remember of it. I’ve got no mind for poetry.’
‘Poetry! This isn’t poetry.’
YOU ARE READING
Balin and Columbine (A Children of the May Novella - Book 1.5b)
FantasyFrom the pages of the Children of the May saga... Two Murders. Two Revengers. The Magical Sword that binds them together. Balin rots in the dungeons of Camelot, unjustly imprisoned for seeking the death of the woman who killed his twin brother. Colu...
