Free The City of Ravens by Richard Baker Page A

comparison this evening.”
    Lady Thoden raised an eyebrow and turned to study him more closely, her smile shining on Jack but somehow never reaching her eyes. A cool strength and confidence in her gaze struck Jack as disdainful, cold, almost calculating. At the same time she glowed like the sun among the crowd. She offered her hand, and Jack bowed low to kiss it with a sweeping gesture.
    “Do I know you, sir?” she asked in a light voice.
    “Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame of Chondath. My lady, a visitor in your fair city,” Jack replied. He’d seen the Lady Mayor at a distance on two or three previous occasions, but he hadn’t realized the beauty and strength she carried in person. Like Elana, but armed with weapons far sharper and more subtle than mere swords. “I shall on this instant declare Raven’s Bluff my home until the day I die, for how could I ever leave the enchanted place that wrought a beauty such as yours?”
    He started to say more, but the Lady Mayor withdrew her hand and nodded graciously. “I suppose I must abide here as well, for how could I deny you the opportunity to weave words such as those? I hope you enjoy your stay, Lord Wildhame. I bid you goodnight.” Then she was gone, sweeping past Jack while the Lord Chancellor and Lord Swylythe briefly introduced themselves and followed
    behind. Jack scarcely noticed, his eyes still on the Lady Mayor as she left.
    Tour loveliness defies comparison?’” Illyth snorted and caught Jack’s arm. “It might be nice if you could spare a compliment or two for me, Jack!”
    “I have long since given up hope of discovering a compliment that could do you credit, fair Illyth,” Jack replied. He caught her hand and kissed it as well. “If I were to call the sun a candle flame, I should shame both myself and the object of my praise. When I find the words to suit you, I shall never cease to give them voice!”
    Illyth laughed and blushed. “That’s better, I suppose. Come on—we must get our masks for the Game!” She led him into the robing room, where a handful of attendants in blue and silver awaited. “Lady Illyth Fleetwood and Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame,” she told them.
    “Lady Illyth,” the chief attendant said with a bow. He was a large man, with broad shoulders and a bearlike beard tempered by the twinkle of humor in his eyes. “Lord Jaer. We’re so very glad you could attend. I am the Master Crafter Randall Morran, and I will serve as the chief storyteller, moderator, judge, master of ceremonies, and facilitator of entertainment for this challenge of the Game of Masks.” He turned his attention to a large wardrobe nearby and searched it thoughtfully before handing two simple masks to them. “Please, try them on. If they are uncomfortable, we shall adjust them.”
    Rolling his eyes, Jack doffed his splendid feathered cap and handed it to the footman. He pulled on the mask and turned to look at Illyth. A ghostly white crane with striking black plumage seemed to stand in her place, although he could vaguely glimpse the suggestion of a beautiful woman in an elegant gown through the illusion.
    “Quite effective,” he admitted. “How do I seem to you, Illyth?”
    The crane laughed softly. “I find myself addressing a rather sly-looking fox in a gentleman’s coat,” she said. “It’s curiously appropriate. And I?”
    “A stately crane, very wise and beautiful,” Jack said, “also appropriate. So, what now? How is the game to be played?”
    “Listen now to the tale of the Seven Faceless Lords,” intoned the Master Crafter. “A long time ago in a distant land, seven wise monarchs named Alcantar, Buriz, Carad, Dubhil, Erizum, Fatim, and Geciras ruled well and faithfully seven rich and prosperous kingdoms: Unen, Dues, Trile, Quarra, Pentar, Hexan, and Septun. In their wisdom, the seven monarchs placed the defense of their land in the hands of a great and powerful enchantment. The spell was bound to the monarchs’ lives, so that as long as one