by A J Callen
Robert coughed and rubbed his hands all the way up and down his arms as though feeling a sudden chill.
“If they exist then I agree with her Holiness. Regular arms and soldiers have proved only marginally effective, and at greater cost to human life compared to the losses of the few Choldath attacks that we know of. There may be others in isolated regions of the Kingdom, for we cannot count their true legion at this time.
“We are initiated in the ways of the Asmadu Vohra but inexperienced in the application of our new skills… Otherwise, gentlemen, we would not all have panicked like a troupe of little girls encountering a spider’s web in the dark, as we did when surprised by such a devious assault.”
Goran prodded at Tanca’s head with his boot; the head moved slightly under the foot’s weight but rolled back to the same position, heavy and lifeless. “I agree. Our enemy has shown itself to be fiercer, faster, and more determined. What is to prevent them from simply overpowering us by sheer numbers if their entire legion chooses to manifest?”
He picked up the head of his slain protector and held it high with his gloved hand. “I give my gratitude and respect to Lord Lionsbury for removing the enemy within our ranks. It should have been my responsibility, as it was Callor’s, yet how can we fight them all when so few of us wield these powerful weapons?”
One of the hooded monks handed the Holy Seer a small, crimson leather-bound book. “If these ancient accounts are correct, then there are more hidden in the Mountains of Haramir. One must go forth and look for them, you know.”
Mildrith, her face red with tears, unwrapped her gray scarf. She leaned down to cover up Tanca’s withering head.
“No!” Byrch grabbed her arm. “Please, lass, you shouldn’t go near it or touch it without gloves… and you’ll need to burn them after.” He turned and faced the group. “All of you remember that. Only the Holy Seer’s monks should gather and burn the remains.”
Mildrith wiped her cheek. “Well, what about his family? What will you tell them?”
Mr. Byrch took a deep breath. What about his family? He didn’t answer.
At the back of the pressing group, Simon glimpsed a departing swirl of long red hair. Why did Dominique leave in such a hurry? He searched the uneasy faces once more to see if Marcus had returned. Simon could not stop puzzling over why a contender to the throne had not acted when he’d had the chance, and even more vexing why the burnish of his sword had remained unchanged while Callor’s and Lord Lionsbury’s had revealed their ethereal glow.
“All of you—back to your quarters,” Mr. Byrch ordered. “There’s nothing more you can do here and mind where you step. It’s slippery when you tread in the—well, you know.”
Simon paused on the steps and looked down at the tattered crimson book in the Holy Seer’s frail hands. Was that where their fate lay written, there upon parchment older and more withered than she? He drew a breath and trudged back up the stairs, feeling himself plunging into something far deeper and darker an abyss than any corridor he had traveled down so far.
Chapter 11
A Difficult Reunion
The first bells resounded from the old tower, on the temple grounds honoring Saint Kaja of Palamor, matron saint of the King’s Council.
As was his custom, Niclas paused his Blue Roan stallion, Sami, and lowered his head in a contemplative and respectful moment of silence.
Although his muscles were stiff and his reflexes slow, he refused to remain bedridden any longer like an invalid when so many urgent decisions and preparations must be completed in so little time. Count Borodin’s letter was clear in no uncertain terms. None of them knew when the worst would be visited upon them, but it would come as surely as the next storm over the mountains.
Carts and wagons clanked around him on the broad dirt road, the muffled curses of irritated shopkeepers and the unconcerned gentry brushing faintly against his ears.
There was no law forcing freemen to show reverence to the traditional ways, nor should there ever be, yet, as a point of respect, no person should be allowed to denigrate those still believing in the Holy Seer and the prophecies safeguarded by her monks.
The bells silent again, Niclas took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of pink Nerium wafting by. Palms swayed lazily in the balmy breeze; they sheltered the last summer bloom of the rose bushes on each side of the main road ahead, leading in turn through to the busy trade center of Avidene.
Keeping Sami to a slow walk, Niclas smiled and nodded his respects to the many people surprised to see him up and about the city, something he attributed in no small measure to Trumak’s miraculous potion.
Many nobles and shopkeepers were overjoyed to see him and wished him renewed health and vigor, yet many also did not, for they had disapproved of his zeal in reinforcing the aging city battlements and had complained bitterly to the Council about the noise, dirt, and loss of business from the little work done so far before his voyage to Kardi.
But in his thirty-first year and as the youngest triumvir chosen by the dying King Christoforus, Lord Niclas Aronbach of Delcarden really didn’t care a jot. Better to lose a few customers and a handful more sovereigns than an entire kingdom and all who looked to her for protection from their enemies.
Niclas spotted Sir Rhain Yarwood standing there, examining the variety of horseshoes nailed on the outside wall of Flodwig Hogg & Sons - Farriers & Blacksmiths.
He hadn’t seen his childhood friend in the two weeks since his return and was eager to hear his account. Sir Yarwood had only recently returned from a scouting mission on the eastern border, where he had investigated the strange reports of unexplained events in the frontier towns of Sharnwick and Pirn.
Niclas trotted up behind his friend. Sami snorted and startled the younger knight, forcing him to jerk back. “Sir Rhain Yarwood, what are you doing outside this early in the day?”
“Niclas! My lord, what a joy to you again.” Sir Yarwood bowed as though to mask the sudden shock and discomfort furrowing his brow.
Niclas chuckled and dismounted. “I would have thought you were still occupied, bedding your latest conquest.”
“Alas, my lord, that has become a much more difficult task since your triumphant return considering it is his Lordship’s company they seek.” He lifted his head. “Yet, here you are riding only a horse. Perhaps our fine Avidene women have finally come to their senses?” He laughed and held out his hand.
“You lecherous bastard.” Niclas laughed. “Remind me again why I’ve never had you flogged.” They embraced and greeted each other as brothers. Though Rhain was several years younger, he was not as slim and muscular as he once was as a consequence of his penchant for excessive drink, lechery, and food of any description.
Rhain stepped back as though appraising his noble friend. “You seem as able-bodied and quick-witted as ever, my lord. Saint Kaja herself must have swooped down and delivered you to those fishermen, who were repaid handsomely, no doubt, for their valiant rescue. By many accounts it was as though the abyss opened above and below, many ships being lost on that terrible night.” Rhain placed his hand firmly on Niclas’s shoulder. “But none of that melancholy talk now. When you are feeling your old self, you must tell me of Kardi. I hear the women are quite skilled at—”
“Ah, of course. Later then, over a few tankards.” He coughed and bowed his greeting to the passing wife of a noble, walking with her two small sons followed behind by their servant girl. “We have much to speak of. What news from the eastern frontier?”
Rhain scrutinized one of the horseshoes nailed to the wall. “You know how these superstitious townsfolk and slaves can be, my lord. They see demon eyes blinking in the darkness when it’s only fireflies.”
“So, you and your men saw nothing out of the ordinary?”
“If you mean anything unholy or signs of its presence, then no, we saw none. Some I questioned, though, told fanciful stories to explain the disappearances of townsfolk and kin, as I’m certain you heard on Kardi. But I have
a better explanation.”
Rhain spoke as if he was struggling to hold back an unfamiliar resentment that Nicolas had never sensed before in his trusted friend. Nor, for the life of him, could he fathom the reason why Rhain would act this way yet did not want to embarrass him with a direct question. Niclas stroked Sami’s neck. “Then I should very much like to hear it.”
Rhain stood as if contemplating, deftly and slowly peeling an apple with a knife; he was passing time before he spoke. “The people reported missing are all young. What future is there for them in those dirt-poor towns and villages when the promise of new wealth and status beckons from the Royal City of Avidene?”
He gestured across the jostling marketplace with his small paring knife. “Is it not true, my lord, if a stable boy train and prove himself worthy in battle, he may one day become a knight, or that a fetching pig farmer’s daughter might become a lady if she marries a noble landowner? And so, our streets teem with the youth from every corner of our Kingdom.
“Godspeed, and good luck I say, to those who run away and make hard sacrifices for their dreams.”
Niclas glanced back at the bustling crowd. It was true. There were many youths with grimy faces and bedraggled clothes, and they all had dreams, just the same as any nobleman. Yet the dreams they sought remained elusive in their furtive glances, the sacrifice of a dry home for the muddy streets quickly taking its toll on many a young and enthused soul.
“I do not disagree, and I am certain that will account for many disappearances, but what of the slaves? Why would they sacrifice all hope of becoming freemen knowing the fate that awaits them if they’re caught?”
“Of that, I cannot say, my good lord.” He took a bite of the apple, made a face, and spat out the chewed fruit. “But we must each do our duty when we catch the ungrateful—” Rhain’s eyes went wide with surprise. He cleared his throat and bowed.
“Fairest lady, fate smiles upon us. You grace us with your unexpected presence.”
Expecting to be introduced to Rhain’s next desirable conquest, Niclas saw the back of a finely-attired young woman in a white veil, her sea blue velvet dress tied around the high waist with a black suede sash. Accompanied by her serving girl, whom he recognized, the lady was inspecting Mr. Hogg’s horseshoes and appeared disinterested in meeting him until she planted the tip of her parasol firmly into the dirt and spun gracefully.
Niclas took a step back. His mouth dangled open as he searched for an enchanting greeting, but his quick tongue failed him, and he could not fill the awkward space. He swallowed, trying to moisten his dry throat.
She was even more beautiful than he had envisioned that night he had almost perished in the sea. The porcelain splendor of her skin was the smoothest and softest he had ever touched and kissed. The mere sight of the black beauty mark on her neck forced him to make an extra effort at presenting a disinterested demeanor.
Niclas searched for a compliment or jest that would lighten the damning silence behind the scorn of her glare. “Juliana, or should I say, Lady Juliana, as your father would prefer. You are a wondrous vision to behold once more, my lady, and the kindest remedy for an ailing soul.” Niclas bowed, unable to bear the scrutiny of her probing stare. Upon his leaving for Kardi, Juliana’s virtue had still been intact, though her pride may have been frayed around the edges. Judging by the dignity of her bearing and challenging stance, she could still hold her head high anywhere in Avidene society.
The faint shadows under her eyes, the unmistakable signs of tears, reminded him of how many times he had seen her like this before, and always as the result of some selfish, pig-headed thing he had done.
Juliana parted the folds of her veil. “I am... pleased to see you returned to our noble city in evident good health, my lord, though you will forgive me if I do not curtsy. Complain to my father, if you wish. I will not deny it.”
“I would not, fair lady. There is altogether too much of it for my liking as it is.”
She crinkled up her nose and eyes. “After all your time on Kardi, I can only imagine the exciting stories you have to share with your peers of the realm.” She unfolded a pink hand fan. “Pray, forgive me. Do not let me interrupt your noble banter or stop you from conducting important Council business that women have no right to overhear.”
Niclas swallowed again to moisten his throat.
He wanted to tell her of the unholy things he had seen on Kardi, but he had not the right words yet to explain everything—even to himself. He vowed not to break his promise to protect Euriel’s secret, for if her claim were true, then all in this life that he knew and loved hung in the balance of what he might do next.
Niclas glanced up at the sky, hoping to catch a glimpse of any circling hawk or bird of prey, the very same thing he had been doing compulsively since rising from bed.
“What are you looking for, my lord?” Rhain placed his hand on his shoulder. “You are suddenly paler than only moments ago. You should sit and rest.”
“I’m fine, Sir Yarwood. Thank you.” Niclas stepped toward Juliana and she fanned her face more rapidly.
“I am surprised to hear you speak thus, my lady,” he said, “For your father always speaks so highly of your insight into the many and varied problems faced by the Council. I have no doubt that he is grateful you somehow manage to… overhear… as much as you do. Is that not the truth, Sir Yarwood?”
“Yes, my lord, just as you say,” Rhain replied with a hint of polite impatience. “And if Lord Maydestone had the power to appoint you to the Council, I daresay he would, my lady.”
Niclas stroked Sami’s mane. “And I would gladly second the motion.”
“If only a lord’s daughter were permitted, my good sirs, or any woman who wishes to serve her people, though I appreciate your kind words,” she replied. A blush like a shadow ran over Juliana’s cheeks. “When you are feeling stronger, my lord, you must pay Father a visit and tell us all of your adventures and daring rescue at sea. One never tires of hearing tales of daring and accomplishment.”
“I… I will, my lady.” In need of a safe distraction to mask his uneasiness, Niclas feigned concern as he adjusted Sami’s bit and headpiece. “And what, may I ask, brings you to the bustling streets of Avidene this glorious day?”
“Well, very much the same as you, I should think. My favorite mare, Chestnut, is being attended to by Flodwig’s eldest son, Iver.”
“Could you not just send one of the stable boys?”
“I am quite capable of attending to my own horses, your Lordship! And I far prefer to do so since it is my life that they carry. A woman’s life is no trifling matter to place into the hands of a distracted juvenile.” She seemed slightly irked.
It was timely that Juliana’s attendant, Hetty, ran out of the farrier stable. “Lady Juliana, Mister Hogg says—” She stopped mid-stride and gasped. “Oh! Lord Delcarden, forgive me.” She curtsied and kept her eyes to the ground. “I didn’t see you, my lord.”
“Hetty, now what did I say to you before?” Niclas smiled and looked upon the embarrassed, dutiful young woman. “I mean, on the very last occasion when you came similarly hurtling from an alleyway to almost knock me clean from my feet.”
Hetty looked uneasy, not venturing to answer.
“I shall tell you,” Delcarden answered. “I said, always attend first and foremost to your lady and do not worry yourself about the likes of me, or, indeed, the likes of any gentleman in your presence.”
Sir Yarwood raised a brow and looked away.
“Lift your head, my fair lady, and show me that radiant smile. I have missed it all these months… like the sun, I thought I should never see it again.”
Hetty giggled and covered her mouth with her apron hem. “Your Lordship always says the nicest things.” She curtseyed.
Juliana cast a stern look at her servant girl. “His Lordship’s sweet words flow like honey, don’t they, Hetty?” Juliana faced Niclas. “I have no doubt the deserted ladies of Kardi are mourning the loss of
your sweet, honeyed tongue as we speak.”
Rhain coughed and raised his hand to his mouth.
Hetty stared at the ground, struggling to keep her lips in a straight line.
Again, Niclas wanted to say something if only to mollify Juliana’s worst imaginings of his nights of unbridled debauchery; these would, in truth, be an accusation gladly accepted if it saved him from ever revealing the terrifying truth to the only woman he had ever loved.
Juliana stepped closer, her fresh scent of rosewater and cloves cleansing the dank air around them. “And what are all these rumors of intrigues and conspiracies? Was Lady Omorosa truly in league with the Barons of Varza?”
Niclas glanced at his trusted friend, Sir Yarwood, yet the young knight remained somber and did nothing to intervene and divert the conversation back to the idle pleasantries of the day. Niclas cleared his throat.
“Upon that matter and many others, my lady, I am presently not at liberty to speak but rest assured I will present a full report to the Council as soon as I am fully recovered. Is that not true, Sir Yarwood?”
“As you say, my lord.”
Juliana narrowed her vivid eyes. “Perhaps the Lady Omarosa became bereft upon learning of your departure? Who knows to what extremes a woman may drive herself if she is abandoned by the one she trusted above all others?”
Niclas lowered his gaze. “Your overly generous assessment of my elevated stature far exceeds my accomplishment and place, I can assure you. Yet I can only hope, fair lady, that the mourning is not greater now I have returned to Avidene… than if I had perished at sea.”
Juliana huffed and tapped the tip of her parasol in the dirt. A few loose, long tendrils of her hair brushed against the soft, blushing rose of her cheek. She pushed the tresses back and looked up, defying him with the full brightness of her eyes. “I would think it plain to see, my lord, that we are all delighted to see your princely personage once more.”