Windmaster Legend: Windmaster, #3

By Helen Henderson

Fate conspired to keep Iol and Pelra apart. Friendship is allowed between members of competing trading houses, but nothing more. He loves the sea and wants his own ship. She hates the deep blue and has worked too hard to allow her dreams to be sidetracked. Despite a beautiful woman on his arm every night, Leod wanted the one he couldn't have—Pelra. His kin on the ruling council did more than put him on the fast track to his own ship. It provided him the power to fulfill his desires and to ruin those who refused him.

Exiled to distant posts, given impossible challenges, and subject to Leod's machinations, Iol and Pelra only have the hope of a future together to sustain them. But can their love survive the accusation of witchcraft?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BWL Publishing Inc.
• Release date: Mar 17, 2019
• ISBN: 9780228607090

Helen Henderson

A former feature-story writer and correspondent, Henderson has also written fiction as long as she could remember. Her heritage reflects the contrasts of her Gemini sign. She is a descendent of a coal-miner's daughter and an aviation flight engineer. This dichotomy shows in her writing which crosses genres from historical adventures and westerns to science fiction and fantasy.A background in computers and history provides her unique insight into the building of worlds for fantasy and science fiction. In the realms of imagination, she is the author of the Dragshi Chronicles and the Windmaster novels.

Book preview

Chapter One

A star arced towards the horizon. Another stream of light followed a heartbeat later. Iol stared at the darkness overhead. He hadn’t seen a multiple fall since the solo sail where he earned his first stripe.

And that had been in the Northern Sea, he muttered. An area known for the lights that dance between the ice-covered waters and the heavens above.

For long seconds he scanned the darkness, assessing whether the event was an omen from the water gods or a fluke of nature. Please, water gods, he whispered, look kindly on your humble servant this night. He left unsaid, too much rides on this eve’s success. Tonight, I am not a junior officer in attendance of his captain. I don’t represent only Wave Walker, but my entire trading council.

The solstice dinner was the major event of the trading houses, and the responsibility of hosting it shifted between each of the trading houses. This season the House of Cszabo had responsibility for entertaining the most important people in Katheul, Iol thought. And the ruling council of my house chose me. I can’t let them down.

The reminder of his duty sent Iol through the garden’s candle-lit maze to the courtyard beyond. Tonight was too important, and he too busy, to deal with imaginary portents. He circled the mingling groups of officers, nodding in salute to those of higher rank. Most of his focus was on the myriad servants carrying trays of sweet treats to offer the guests or on the Wine Guild apprentices holding cloth-wrapped bottles of the special vintage ready for the pour. A hand signal sent one of the bottle carriers to refill an empty glass in a senior officer’s hand.

Satisfied everything was under control, Iol returned to his observation spot. He envied the guests mingling in the open area surrounding the dance floor. Tanned skin showed through the open collars of the junior officers. Several of the senior captains had removed their formal jackets to provide a respite from the summer heat. The orange glow from the lanterns lining the garden glittered off the seamen’s gold bracelets of rank.

Iol looked at the braided chevron on the cuffs of his jacket. Soon, he muttered, I will have gold on my wrists—and a ship to go with them. A tug resettled his tunic across his chest, but failed to loosen the high collar. He resisted the urge to pull at the stiff material.

A slight shift in the shadows behind the low stage on which a quartet from the Bard Guild performed caught his attention. With quick steps, he slipped into the maze, heading towards whatever caused the earlier disturbance. He stopped behind the tall hedge that separated two of the maze paths. The movement repeated. This time the cause was clear. A woman in her mid-twenties sat alone on a cushioned bench. She held a small guitar case on her lap and balanced a slender metal tube of a flute atop the larger instrument.

Iol searched his memory for any recall of the woman. She hadn’t taken advantage of the special table set aside for the performers or taken food or drink from any of the servants. He was sure of it.

She’s probably an apprentice about to give her first solo journeyman performance. Memories of his own exam and the nervousness before it surfaced. Loathe to disturb the woman’s quiet solitude, he slipped back to the more boisterous courtyard where he sought out the head servant and questioned him about the woman in the arbor.

No, she hasn’t eaten or taken a cup all night. I’m sure of it. The other man glanced towards the stage. I even took her a plate myself.

Thank you, Latrell. It’s not your fault. You did as you should. If she refused, it was her right. Iol laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. You have outdone yourself this evening. He glanced around to make sure no one was within hearing range. Even old Second Seat of the House of Pirri was seen to crack a smile tonight. Straightening, he resettled his tunic. Keep an eye on things, Latrell. I’ll see what we can do with our mysterious bard.

* * *

Leod guided a dark-haired beauty through the intricate steps of the current popular dance. He spun her on the final note of the guitar ending up on one knee. In a lithe movement, he rose to his feet. Thank you, Lady Gràinne, for the honor. Still holding her close, he lifted the back of her hand to his lips. Her parted lips and quickened breath followed.

I’ll see you tomorrow eve, the dark-haired beauty whispered. The guest house garden gate will be open. Her voice dropped even lower. My husband could never work the latchkey, so he leaves the gate unlocked whenever he goes ‘visiting.’ A flick of her kohl-darkened eyelids and the woman turned to join another group.

Sire? The wine is chilled. Would you like a glass?

The voice at Leod’s shoulder startled him. Damn. He realized while his attention had been on the retreating townswoman, the servant had approached in silence. What had the man heard? A quick replay of his movements since the dance revealed Gràinne’s proposition.

Reassurance rose. Gràinne didn’t say why she would see me.

Leod turned back to the servant who held out a tray with several crystal goblets filled with wine gracefully balanced on it. He took a glass. Might as well have another drink. Without any ship duties, my days—and nights—are free. Over the rim of the glass, he discretely reviewed the crowd. He had two sevenday in port and Gràinne was only good for a single evening’s entertainment. Her husband only went out one night a sevenday. Whether the merchant distrusted his wife’s wandering eye, or more likely, Leod admitted, the gray-beard couldn’t handle more than a single night of passion before needing to rest and recover.

Leod smirked and returned to his search for suitable diversions. One woman after another was ranked as to their usability in achieving another stripe on his collar or cementing his future position on the house council. Beauty and a vacuous brain were sufficient for an interlude at a foreign port, but here in his homeport of Stratven, a woman had to offer something else, such as a friendly vote on the next promotions board.

The rustle of leaves underfoot shifted his focus from a fiery red-head standing off to the side by herself to one of the paths leading from the maze. Nothing of interest appeared. Damn, Leod cursed in silence. No senior officer in an inappropriate embrace left the darkness, merely a servant whose dress tunic bore the colors of the House of Cszabo.

But the satisfied smile on the other man’s face intrigued Leod. Any secret is a good secret, for knowledge is power. Silently, he slipped into the path. Each step took him away from the courtyard and into the shadowed maze. He was about to return to the party when the flickering light revealed a woman perched on the edge of a bench. Moonbeams danced on blond curls surrounding a bent head. The woman lifted her head and tightened her grasp on the instrument cases across her lap.

The sight of her red lips excited Leod. There were few female bards, but he had heard whispers of their ability to satiate a man. Finally, a prize worthy of the chase.

Loud strumming from the courtyard warned the current tune was about to end. If he wanted to get closer, he had to move before the music ended.

But what of the servant? Worry hissed.

Warmth at the memory of the satisfaction in the other man’s expression rose up Leod’s neck. He stared at the woman who once again contemplated the skies overhead. Had he lost the prize before the chase even begun?

No, that is unacceptable, he breathed. I’ll find out who that servant was and destroy him. And if the bard graced him with her favors, then she will be next. Again, he evaluated the features now cast in moonlight. But until then, she’ll provide a distraction not even council members enjoy.

His decision made, he slipped from the shadows into the light of a lantern hanging from a tree limb. My lady, I am Leod, a seated member of the ruling council of the House of Pirri. He rose from his best court bow. At your service.

Surprise stopped his hand in mid-gesture of offering her the glass of wine. The come hither smile that normally resulted from his introduction was missing. Instead, there was just silence and a raised eyebrow. He’d heard the bards could strip a man to the bone with a glance or single word. But he’d never believed it. Until now.

The best wine in Stratven for the most beautiful woman.

Assurance filled him. That line had never failed to win over a woman. This one might be a bard, but she was still a woman. However, instead of an encouraging smile, her response was a chilled, No, thank you.

He shifted to the approach that had bedded him many a fair maiden. Then may I have the honor of this dance? A man only has the opportunity once in his life to have such a beautiful companion, let alone one bard-trained.

The slight tightening of her lips gave Leod little insight into what he had said wrong. Still, he held the smile that had won over so many women.

His target still didn’t submit. Instead, she gave a slight shake of her head. I appreciate the compliment. However, I am quite content where I am. Maybe you should return to the dance. Her head-to-toe scan of him added to the fire building under Leod’s skin. There should be someone there suitable for you.

What had been a slow burn grew hotter. No woman had ever rebuffed his advances. The image of the servant’s satisfied smile returned. Anger flared. This female chose a servant, someone not only of a lower rank, but one from a lesser trading house, over me?

For long seconds, he remained frozen. His thoughts swirled in a red maelstrom, but his muscles refused to move.

No, pride asserted. The prize would be mine—and so would revenge.

Your refusal is not accepted. I will have my dance. Since you won’t join me in the company of others, the heart of the maze will be our dance floor. He looked around the small cove, his gaze lingered on the cushioned bench. Then after the music stops, we can make our own.

One stride closed the distance between them.

* * *

His slap rocked Pelra’s head back against the hedge. A hiss escaped her lips. Leod’s hard grip on her arm numbed her fingers, and the cases clattered to the ground. Instinctively, she shifted her feet to avoid stepping on the cases and damaging the precious instruments inside.

Leod’s yank hauled her to her feet. We will dance, my lady. If not on your feet, then on your back.

Shock and fear fought for control of Pelra’s legs. One emotion wanted to run, and the other held her in place. Anger that she would be attacked rose above the other emotions. I am at a party in the king’s garden. Even worse, her attacker was a member of her own trading house, in essence, kin. That slight reminder of who she was broke Pelra’s paralysis. A sharp twist of her wrist and she was free of Leod’s grasp. Two steps not only gave her room to maneuver, it drew her attacker away from the instruments.

Strategic options whirled in her mind. A glance revealed no weapons at hand. It’s up to me. As commander of a caravan, she’d been in plenty of fights. Just not, she admitted, hampered by a long gown. With one hand she gathered the skirt and hiked it a mere finger-length, so the hem rose to her ankle. The other hand reached as if to smooth an errant curl.

Leod’s eyes widened. His lips parted.

Pelra’s fingers tightened around the longest of the pins that held her hair in a crown around her head. That one will get a surprise. I am no tavern girl selling myself for a few coins. Instructions from the guild’s weaponsmasters solidified a strategy in her mind. Let him come to you—then strike.

The length and heft of the hairpin limited the damage it could do. The eyes, she decided. Although she had practiced the move, she had never actually used it to blind someone. Shifting her weight into a combat stance, she calmed herself to wait—and fight.

Chapter Two

A plate in hand, Iol walked the tables. A glance at the moon that loomed overhead and a quick calculation reassured him. With only two more candlemarks until closing call, there was sufficient food and drink to last the rest of the event. As he filled the plate with bites of sweet treats and savories suitable to calm a nervous apprentice, he checked that the meats were warm and the spiced crustaceans packed in the remaining ice from the previous winter’s harvest remained chilled.

Here, Master Iol. Latrell appeared at Iol’s side. The headman held a small tray. Two glasses filled one side leaving a space just large enough for the plate in Iol’s hand. I took the liberty of preparing a special drink of freshly-pressed fruit juice and sweet white wine. The older man smiled. Not too strong, just enough to wet a parched throat or ease frazzled nerves.

Thank you, Latrell. That’s perfect. Keep an eye on things for me. I’ll take the tray to her.

Swift steps took him to a maze entrance. An unreasoning fear gripped him. What if the woman had left? But he didn’t dare hurry and risk bumping into anyone. The senior officers would not appreciate their dress uniform being stained, or their wives’ gowns ruined.

A pair of men broke off their discussion and waved. Hold up, Iol, the one dressed in the colors of the House of Cszabo called out. Their quick steps headed them on a path that would cut across Iol’s. Identification came as they passed beneath a string of lights. The summoner was Faeld, Third Seat of the House of Cszabo, and the man officially in charge of the solstice party. Why was the senior officer speaking to Conall, who was a bard? Iol wondered. He couldn’t think of any good reason the two would be together.

The councilman gestured to the tray and raised an eyebrow.

Tension tightened Iol’s frame. To prevent accidently addressing his councilman by his personal name or the informal, Third, Iol set the honorific name, Cszabo Three, in his mind. This isn’t for me, he hastily explained. There is a guest who hasn’t eaten or had a glass of wine all night. I think she has a case of nerves.

The slight twist to Conall’s lips confirmed Iol’s suspicion that his friend had a secret. Told you, sir, Conall said. Relax, Iol, you haven’t done anything wrong. In fact, if you could get Pelra to eat a little something, I would appreciate it.

Realization Conall knew the lady in the gazebo made Iol wonder what their relationship was. He was interested in Pelra, but would not poach from a friend. Noting that the council member stood waiting, he felt compelled to explain. I thought she was an apprentice nervous about making her journeyman performance.

In a manner Iol was well acquainted with, Cszabo Three quirked an eyebrow up. So, you were taking her wine—for her nerves?

Iol shook his head. Not really wine. It is mostly fruit juice with just a splash of wine for color and taste. At the continued look from his superior, he searched his mind for anything wrong. But there had been no complaints. The animated conversations he had observed as the pair walked hadn’t hinted at any discord.

You are correct about a performer, Cszabo Three said. However, Lady Pelra is not an apprentice, but a subcommander with the House of Pirri. It is her composition that will be the showcase piece of the evening. The older man glared at the bard before returning his attention to Iol. The Bard Guild has made a request, one which I have decided to grant.

Conall straightened, his tone changed to the one used by his guild when addressing important matters. On behalf of the Bard Guild, I ask that one Ensign Iol be released for a special assignment with the guild. We have need of another person for the final part of tonight’s program. Iol, as you are a musician of sufficient skill for the composition, and not only a member of the house hosting the event, but in charge of same, you have been chosen.

Anger at his friend’s deception, and even more at the councilman for allowing the blindsiding, flooded Iol. Just as quickly, the rage vanished. He would do his duty, even if on short notice. As my house has agreed, so will I obey. Now what is this secret assignment that pulls me away from other responsibilities?

Conall gestured at the path leading to the maze. I’ll explain as we walk.

* * *

Loud voices, one angry, the other raised in protest reached the group. Conall ran towards the noise with the council member just a step behind. Hampered by the tray and unable to jump the low hedge row, Iol had to follow the path and fell farther behind. He finally reached a gap in the hedges. Those he followed were ten feet away, but he focused on the movement at the other side of the clearing.

Two figures grappled.

Cszabo Three cleared his throat in warning. Excuse me, Lady Pelra. A word?

The taller of the pair that had been struggling turned.

Whether the councilman meant it or not, the woman Iol now knew as Pelra took advantage of the distraction to break free. A step widened the space between her and the apparent attacker.

Go away, the man growled. I am Leod, seated member of the House of Pirri. You’re interfering in things not of your business. After a dismissive scan, he turned and reached for the watching woman.

Iol’s neck burned at the other man’s actions. The weight of the tray and the rules against junior officers fighting held him in place.

I think not, Cszabo Three said. His soft tone showed no hint of the real power behind it. Lady Pelra and I have business to discuss.

Iol fought down a shudder. The council member’s mild tone and smile were deceptive as too many junior officers had discovered, just before being called to task.

A branch moved behind Leod, revealing Latrell’s face. The servant waved and the branch returned to its previous spot without even a whisper of leaves to reveal its visitor. Iol let out his held breath. Knowledge the headman knew of the trouble reassured Iol reinforcements would be there shortly. But would they arrive in time?

Despite the order for all weapons to be left aboard ship or at the gate with the king’s servants, he felt Leod was armed—ready to attack. All I have is the tray. He judged the metal disk as a potential weapon. All weight shifted onto his front foot in preparation of the defense of his senior officer. His grip tightened on the tray ready to toss its contents into the intruder’s face.

You still here? Leod snarled. You must have algae in your ears.

Although shorter by a half head, and older by at least two decades, Iol watched the councilman’s subtle shift to block Leod’s advance on the watching woman. I know Pirri teaches manners, even to their lower officers. Cszabo Three’s smiled broadened. You must have skipped that class, Yeoman Leod. I’d be more than happy to give you a lesson. The way he dragged Leod’s name out as Lee-odd hinted at his impatience. His gesture of dismissal brooked no refusal. I suggest you leave before your captain shows up. Your quarters aboard ship should be suitable accommodations for the evening.

Leod waved a dismissal of the order. I am a seated councilman. You are not of my house. Have no power over me. Leave now or feel the weight of Pirri. A smile twitched his lips. I will do what I choose.

Did I hear someone invoke the House of Pirri?

Iol didn’t dare take his attention off the man in front of him to see who spoke, but the words and tone indicated reinforcements had arrived. He took a step closer to Leod. Another insult to the House of Cszabo could not be ignored. He wondered at the calm emanating from both his councilman and Conall. Another secret the two shared? However, instead of the expected growl to leave, all signs of arrogance left Leod’s face, and the supposed member of Pirri’s ruling council stood silent at attention.

Greetings, Faeld, the newcomer said. Or since this is an official meeting, ‘Cszabo Three.’

Iol risked a glance at the speaker. The man wore no sign of rank on either collar or sleeve, but carried himself as one used to being obeyed. The question remained unanswered. Was he reinforcement for me or Leod?

Well, Cszabo, your man told me that you had a problem Pirri could help solve. I see that I’ve come just in time. Ensign Leod, I think the evening is finished for you.

But, sir, Leod began. I didn’t do anything wrong.

Where Leod’s previous glance was dismissive, the glare the newcomer pinned onto him was withering. Iol fought down a shiver. Not all captains were known for their sympathetic handling of their crew.

Ensign, the man repeated, since the sea has blocked your hearing, I’ll make it clear. Report to the council chambers at mid-day tomorrow. His voice hardened. Until then stay aboard ship.

For long moments, Iol thought Leod would object. Then all resistance lost his frame. A spin on his heels and he disappeared into the maze.

Iol’s superior nodded at the spot Leod had just vacated. You did prevent an issue, old friend. I couldn’t tell if I was going to have to hold back my ensign or the Bard Guild’s newest journeyman. He gestured at the party whose sounds barely reached the secluded spot. I thought weapons were to be left aboard ship or with the king’s guard. Your ensign disobeyed custom and standard. I spotted a knife in his boot and the tang of another peeked from behind his belt buckle.

Insight flashed. Iol understood why the newcomer showed no fear at Leod’s threats. He was a senior captain, and when he decided to leave the sea had a seat reserved on the ruling council of the House of Pirri.

My apologies, Lady Pelra, for Leod’s behavior. Please enjoy the rest of the evening. That one will not bother you again. The newcomer’s arm swung back and he gave a regal bow. Although we haven’t met formally, I am Kursko, Third Seat of Pirri. His low chuckle resounded in the small area. Now that we’ve solved one problem, there’s another we can take care of. I understand there are still a few glasses of that special vintage left. Sadness twisted his lips. I’m parched.

Iol wanted to offer the glasses on his tray to the councilmen, but sensed a sub-current of a common joke rather than a real complaint.

Then, Kursko, Faeld answered, we need to take care of that. It wouldn’t do for it to be said Cszabo is a poor host. He turned to the watching trio. Lady Pelra, I’ll leave you in the capable hands of the Bard Guild. Best wishes for your performance. I know you’ll do well. An arm around his counterpart, Faeld guided him back towards the main party.

The tension in the clearing now lighter, Conall performed quiet introductions. I’m sorry Pelra, but Raild is stranded on the other side of the river. He’s still a day’s hard ride away.

His aside to Iol that Raild had been practicing as the other member of their trio just added to his confusion. Why is Conall explaining Bard business to me?

Conall’s shrug matched the grimace on his face. And everyone else in the guild has already performed tonight. A smile brightened his features as he said to Pelra, I have, however, secured a replacement.

Let me guess who, Iol growled.

Conall spread his arms and bent at the waist, rising with a grin on his face. In a heartbeat, a serious expression replaced the mischievousness, leaving only the sparkle in his eyes. His gesture of silence turned into a friendly hand laid on Iol’s shoulder. "Pel, this motley excuse for a host will be performing with us tonight. He is the only one who is skilled