Blood of the Red

Chapter 4 - Shallo

"Are you new to these regions, Lady?" August asked, "None of my friends could place you, and I would know you had I but glimpsed you from a distance."

"Visiting." Shallo inclined her head towards an elderly woman in diamonds across the hall, "Lady Valtrade knows my father and kindly invited me to accompany her to the gathering."

On the stage the musicians stood and the bubbling of conversation died away throughout the grand hall. The centremost of the five musicians picked up his flute. Despite his age the man radiated vigour. August sniffed and stifled a yawn.

"They say Geralt is exceptional," whispered Shallo, "We have a treat in store."

"I'm glad you like the minstrels, dear lady. I don't care for them myself. It's no fit occupation for a man, tootling about on a pipe his whole life. However, dear Shallo, what makes you happy I cannot condemn." August forced a smile.

Shallo sized August up, narrowing her eyes as he looked away to the where the musicians stood, still checking their instruments. He looked very handsome in his well-groomed way. Black hair, slightly curled, framed a square-jawed face. A pity he lacked the character to support the lie of his features. His eyes matched the cornflower blue of his silk waistband. The sword at his hip was ornamental, but Shallo entertained no doubt he had not been properly schooled in the arts of war. Only August's mouth betrayed his faults, even when silent. There was a weakness about his lips - it spoke of a mean spirit and of pettiness. Perhaps all those sour words had left their mark there.

Shallo didn't care, it was August's body not his mind that attracted her. Even now, with all her plans thrown to the wind, his body continued to be her main interest. In any event, attraction was merely a bonus, as a piece in Shallo's game August con Larna would be seduced, even if he looked like a horse.

Geralt's first notes sounded, pure and clear. He let them hang in the air. Then, slowly, music began to pour from his flute. Complex and unbroken, the melody flowed over the glittering crowd. Music filled the hall, to the very rafters. For a moment Shallo closed her eyes and lived amid the leaping tones. She moistened her parted lips, tasting the harmonies. Geralt notes became sharp and began to cut. The power of it bore Shallo away, as if he had sliced open the very air and the blood of the world came flooding out. And without warning the flood washed by, a single aching hollow note reverberating in its wake, leaving her stranded.

Applause. More than polite, less than unrestrained. Geralt bowed and retired to his seat among the other players. Together they struck up a familiar tune, a variant on the Rega Waltz that rang out so often in ballrooms from Thelim to Callan Town.

Shallo's hand found August's. Her long fingers laced his. She brushed an imagined hair from the black velvet of her dress and pushed from her voice any echoes of emotion from Geralt's performance. "Shall we dance?"

Without waiting for a reply Shallo led August into the space before the players. She turned and curtsied, all elegance and poise.

"Sir?"

August bowed in turn, "My lady."

Catalyzed by Shallo's confident entry onto the dance-floor, other couples followed suit. Within moments two dozen dancers stepped and twirled. Many were very accomplished, trained as children by tutors in the essential arts of nobility. Shallo's own training demanded both grace and precision, and whilst she had undoubtedly danced to a different tune she suspected her lessons served her well enough amid the swirl of gentry. August proved a suitable prop for her skill. His bright colours contrasting her black and silver.

The music fell. Geralt scattered spare notes amidst the throng, and the applause rose. August's chest heaved, he patted at his face with a handkerchief to keep perspiration at bay. Shallo curtsied again,