Free Lady Of The Helm (Book 1) by T.O. Munro

common servant.  But I can still…”  She hesitated at the last.  Her tongue tip flicked across her lips again.  “But I can still be a…. a comfort to you.”
    “Get out,” he shrieked, more unnerved by an adolescent throwing herself at him than he had ever been by a platoon of orcs.
    The extremity of his reaction confused her at first.  When he repeated the order, with more cold contempt and a petulant stamp of his foot, she stood up wide eyed.  “Don’t you like me?  Don’t you want me?”
    He clutched at the questions, seized in them as a route out of this mire as he launched into a brutal denial.  “No, Hepdidia I d on’t.  I think you’re hideous. Now get out.”
    At last she obeyed him, fleeing with a violent sob scarcely noticing that she practically bowled Bishop Udecht over as he came into the messroom.   The cleric looked after her retreating back with an appreciative glance before turning to Kimbolt with a grin, “Woman trouble, eh Captain?”
    Kimbolt stood stiffly to attention, his face crimson with rage and embarrassment.  “I am sorry you r reverence that you had to see that. It was unforgiveable.”
    Udecht gave the Captain’s apology a nonchalant wave of dismissal and approached instead the plate of plenty that Hepdida had left.  Mesmerised by the food, he said nothing and seized on a slice of pork and crammed it hungrily into his mouth, even as his other hand reached out for some beef to chase the half chewed pig down his throat.  Midway through the second mouthful he grew conscious of KImbolt’s incredulous stare and tried to slow his unmannered guzzling mid gulp, with the effect that he succumbed to a choking fit. Coughing and spluttering helplessly, he waved at the carafe of mead until Kimbolt poured and handed him a cup which the Bishop drained in one gulp. 
    “That’s better,” Udecht pronounced to the punctuation of a deep belch.  “One forgets how hungry one can get in this place.”
    “Er… yes your reverence,” Kimbolt replied uncertainly.  While wel l known to enjoy his food, the Bishop had always seemed most fastidious about such things as table manners.
    Udecht gave him a shrewd stare, reading in the Captain’s confused expression the concern that his unaccustomed gluttony was generating. He put the cup down carefully, working his fingers over each other.  “Forgi ve me Captain, Kimbolt isn’t it?”
    “Yes your reverence,” Kimbolt gave a puzzled acknowledgement for his name was well known to the Bishop after a six month tour of duty in Sturmcairn.
    “Just so, just so,” Udecht mused, toying with the cup a moment.  Then he pointed suddenly at Kimbolt saying. “Vos amici mei mandabo, Kimbolt!”
    It was odd, for though the words were the most unfamiliar thing that the strangely altered Bishop had yet done, they were also instantly and immediately re-assuring to the startled Captain.  He felt soothed and relaxed by the presence of his good friend Bishop Udecht.  When the Bishop smiled he felt like laughing, when the bishop frowned he was both concerned and yet confident the Bishop would explain the wisest course of action.  Udecht watched him for a moment, as the Captain unconsciously mirrored his gestures, waiting expectantly for whatever words of wisdom his good friend would share.
    “You know Captain, Kimbolt,” he began.  “I find the cold and age are both catching up with me and my memory is not what it should be.  I have quite forgotten what the password for this evening is.”
    “Oh, you could always ask the C astellan for it,” Kimbolt hastened to offer a solution, but was then gripped by anxiety when his good friend frowned deeply at the suggestion.
    “My nephew though , is such an inflexible and petty man.”  At the description, Kimbolt wondered why he had never before seen Prince Thren’s failings as clearly as the Bishop described them.  “He would make such fun of me for forgetting, and doubtless make me serve some