by D Murray
He is truly mad.
“I often felt my own subjects feared me rather than loved me.”
Because you starved them, imprisoned them, tortured, raped and murdered them.
“Truth be known, I even think my children, when they lived, didn’t have much kindness in their hearts for me, let alone love.”
Because they saw the poison in your veins, and how it had corrupted them. And because you treated them no different to your subjects.
Grunnxe whirled around from his seat, the pace of his action startling Evelyne. He shouted over his shoulder, “Service. Now!” Clattering could be heard from behind the veiled compartment of the pavilion behind Grunnxe, where the food was being prepared. He turned back to her, his demeanour calm and charming once more. “Forgive the tardiness of the food, my dear. It will be but a moment.”
Evelyne shook her head, dismissing the apology with a demure smile. “It is of no moment, Your Highness.”
“Good. Now, where was I?”
Evelyne was about to speak when Grunnxe cut her off.
“You see, I’ve been king now for a long time. What people don’t realise is that it can be quite the lonely world to inhabit. Total power exists in a void of the comforts ordinary people enjoy. Sometimes it’s just nice to take in a dinner with someone who really understands me.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned his elbows onto the table. He looked away for a moment, then back to Evelyne. There was an earnest cast about his face. “I feel you understand me, and I you. I feel there is a closeness growing between us. Do you feel it too?”
I feel nothing but the roiling of my stomach as I look at you. I feel my skin crawl at the thought of any more of your sickened words. You are poisoned in the heart and mind, the rotting carcass of a man spewed into being amidst the soiled afterbirth of your demonic union. “You read me as one who truly knows my heart.”
“I want to nurture it, and see it grow.” Grunnxe leaned back, his smile as wide as his face could stretch. The bald serving man hurried in and placed a bowl of soup in front of the king, and then another in front of Evelyne.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” The man bowed, was dismissed with a wave of Grunnxe’s hand, and then scurried off as quick as he could.
Grunnxe leaned over and drew a deep, loud breath through his nose as he smelled the green soup. “Ah! Pea and mint. I do hope you enjoy.” He moved his right hand to the side of the bowl and picked up a fork. He brought it up in front of his face and stared closely at it, his eyes crossing as he turned it about in front of them. The colour of his face began to darken, and his cheeks began to tremble. The vein running down the centre of his forehead began to protrude as his colour turned to red. He exploded, “A spoon! A spoon! Give me a fucking spoon!”
The serving man came running in with a soup spoon in his outstretched hand. He didn’t even make it all the way to the table before Grunnxe whirled from his seat and grabbed the outstretched arm, twisting and sending the man crashing down onto the table on his back in a spray of crockery and green soup. The fork in Grunnxe’s right hand came down and punched into the man’s throat, rising slick and shining red before descending again. And again, and again, and again. Blood gouted then welled from the ragged wound in the man’s throat, before his wild eyes rolled back in his head.
Evelyne stared on in horror, her face speckled with blood, her hands trembling in her lap.
Grunnxe stood back from the body and tossed the fork at the curtained wall of the room, leaving a red stain dashed across it. He grabbed the body of the serving man, lifting the limp form by the blood-soaked doublet, and tossed it slumping to the rug-covered floor. Grunnxe straightened his own blood-soaked doublet and ran his hands over his hair, ensuring it was all in place before sitting down at the table. The fine silk tablecloth, now stained red, was crinkled up, holding small pools of bright red amidst the smashed ruin of the tableware. “Fork!” he called to where Yara stood, terrified, at the side of the tented room. “Can you please resume the dinner service? And Fork – see there are no more fuck ups, eh?”
“Your Highness.” She bowed and hurried to the food preparation area in another room of the pavilion.
Grunnxe smiled at Evelyne. “Now, where were we?”
Evelyne realised her mouth was agape, and shut it. “You were speaking of the growing closeness between us.” She sat forward purposefully, locking her eyes on his. On his mad eyes.
“Yes.” Grunnxe grinned. “You feel it, too.”
She returned his smile, then cast her eyes down, working a shyness about her face, as best she could in the presence of such horror. “You have been kind and generous to me. I am grateful for that. These nights we have spent together, they have shown me a side to you I did not expect.” They’ve shown me that you’re every inch the mad, murdering fucker they say you are. “They’ve shown me a tenderness, and yet, a strength.”
Grunnxe leaned over the blood-stained table and reached out his broad, scarred hand. “I can’t wait for you to feel Balzath’s presence. To feel the love and generosity of his spirit.”
Something recoiled within her at the mention of the name. Dajda can hear his words.
Grunnxe carried on “I can’t wait for you to meet him.”
“Meet him?”
“Yes, my dearest.” Grunnxe’s fat thumb stroked the back of her hand, rough like the tongue of a cat. “Balzath awaits at Hagra Iolach, where he recovers from his great efforts against the traitors.” Grunnxe’s tongue slipped out and ran over his cracked lips. He smiled again, and brought his other hand over to cup hers. “He wants to meet you. He told me, at Carte, before he had to return to Hagra Iolach. He wants to meet you very much.”
The sense of unease swirled and grew in Evelyne’s stomach. Dajda fears.
“Fork!” Grunnxe turned his head and shouted, his hands still cupping Evelyne’s hand. “Bring us the food.” He turned back to Evelyne and whispered, “Let’s hope we get the right cutlery this time.” He laughed and released her hand before leaning back in his chair and looking down at the body of the serving man. He chuckled to himself. “Spoon, spoon, give me the fucking spoon.” His chuckle ran high, becoming a giggle before he looked back to her. “You know we’ll have to leave your wagons behind as we travel these last few days. With winter being as it is, the rest of the passable route to Hagra Iolach is snowed in. We’ll have to walk over the mountain the rest of the way. I hope you understand.”
Before she could answer, Yara strode in, holding before her a silver tray with two plates of roast chicken and potato. Her face was pale and drawn, and her eyes were glistening with tears. She stepped over the prostrate body of the serving man and placed the tray down amidst the ruin of bowls and pools of blood. The gravy on the plate steamed about her face as she picked up the fragments of bowl in front of Grunnxe. Her hands trembled violently as they travelled back to deposit the remnants in the corner of the tray.
Grunnxe looked at her face the whole time, leering with amusement as he watched her fear birth itself right in front of him. She placed the plate of chicken and potato before him. “Got me a fork and knife this time?” he asked, looking to Evelyne and winking his good eye at her.
Yara bowed and placed the fork and knife either side of his plate, before clearing Evelyne’s place and serving her also. Evelyne tried to make eye contact with her, but the servant avoided her gaze entirely. She stepped back, holding the tray with blood- and soup-stained crockery before her. Grunnxe waved a knife at her, and she bowed before stepping over the body and out of the dining compartment of the pavilion.
“Good.” Grunnxe spoke through the mouthful of chicken and gravy, sending flecks of pale meat onto the gore-stained table top.
Evelyne picked at the food, moving it about the plate with the spoon she had been given. She was unable to bear the thought of eating, despite the hunger gnawing at her belly.
“Do you feel a journey on foot would cause you much discomfort?” Grunnxe asked her.
Leaving
me out there to die in a storm would cause me less pain than another second here with you. “I will do as you wish, Your Highness. However, if I may ask for one thing?”
“Anything. Anything at all.”
“If those of us without could be given better clothes, it would be of great advantage.”
“Of course, of course!” Grunnxe said, placing down his knife and reaching out for his goblet, only to see it was not there. He looked about, his eyes finally going to the place on the floor between the body and the table, where both of their goblets rested. “My apologies. It seems we are without wine. Fork! Cups of wine.”
Evelyne bowed her head with a gentle smile. “Thank you.”
“What do you need for the journey?”
“Scarves, thicker cloaks, hose, boots and gloves. For all of the townsfolk who travel with us.”
“I’ll see to it.”
Yara hurried in and placed two tin goblets before them. She uncorked the bottle and poured Grunnxe a measure, and then Evelyne, before being dismissed by Grunnxe without thanks.
“When do we head off?” Evelyne asked.
“Tomorrow. We’ll take a garrison force with us. I’ll be sending some platoons out to gather supplies from any villages nearby. I want to keep my guests well provided for. The rest I’ll send back to Jerras Port.”
She lifted the wine and sipped from it. “Your Highness,” she worked up her courage, “can you tell me where my friends are?”
He held her eyes in his, and with a slow and measured pace, placed his wine cup down. “You know where they are. They’re in the wagon, and some others are in other wagons. That’s if they’re not looking after my troops.”
“I don’t mean the villagers.” Her heart was racing. Do it. Come on, you old fuck. Get angry, lash out, kill me. “I mean the old man and the two young girls you took from Carte.”
Grunnxe did not fly into a rage, nor did he even flinch. He broke off his stare and focused on cutting up some more chicken. He held it up in front of his face. “I fear the breast has gone a little dry.” He turned the fork, and dipped it into a pool of the blood in the fold of table silk before popping it in his mouth and chewing with a smile. “Better.”
Evelyne watched in horror, her upper lip and nose beginning to crinkle and twitch in involuntary disgust.
“They come with us to Hagra Iolach.” Grunnxe continued to carve more chicken, and dipped it once more in the blood. “You should really try this. It’s a revelation.”
Evelyne couldn’t resist any more. She lifted her hand to her mouth, her shackles jangling, and swallowed the vomit that rose in her throat.
“Your friends are guests of Balzath. As are you. Honoured guests. He’s very much looking forward to seeing you all, I’m sure. You know he has plans for each of you.” Grunnxe tossed his knife and fork onto the plate with a clatter, causing Evelyne to startle. “Dinner’s over.” Grunnxe stood, and abruptly walked from the tented compartment of the pavilion, leaving Evelyne alone for a moment.
Evelyne’s eyes darted to where Grunnxe’s knife lay half on his plate, half on the blood-stained tablecloth. She looked about the room and then stood, lifting her shackled hands towards it. Yara stepped in, and Evelyne froze.
Yara’s eyes went to the knife, and then to Evelyne. She shook her head.
Jessem entered the room. “Time to go, my lady,” he said. “Yara, help her change, please.”
They entered the small tented room beside the dining section of the pavilion, and Yara began helping Evelyne out of the dress.
“Here.” Jessem took a damp cloth and wiped the dried blood speckles that covered Evelyne’s face.
As Yara unlaced the dress at the back, Evelyne’s head went light, and she swayed.
“My lady,” Yara said, catching her and keeping her upright. “Here, sit yourself down. Jessem, the stool.”
Evelyne sat, thanking the young man, who turned his back once more as Yara pulled the dress down and over her feet. Evelyne’s brow beaded with sweat as Yara took her dirty dress and pulled it up over her legs. As she pulled the bodice up over her breasts, Evelyne noted how tender they were, wincing as Yara placed her arms into the sleeves.
“Sorry, my lady.”
“It’s fine. I’m just not feeling well, is all.”
“Aye. I know what you mean.” Yara smiled to her, though it was clear to Evelyne it was not borne of pleasure or amusement. Instead, there was a regretful sorrow to it. The woman’s eyes slid to Evelyne’s belly, then back.
What is she– Evelyne looked up at her, their eyes locking, and her mouth sagged open. “No. I, I–”
“Come on. I need to get you back to the wagon,” Jessem said, taking hold of the chain linked to Evelyne’s wrist shackles.
Yara offered her that sorrowful smile once more.
“Sleep well, my lady.”
Evelyne held her gaze as she was led from the pavilion, questions on her lips, questions in her mind. She thought of Kalfinar. I can’t be. Can I?
Evelyne sat with her cloak pulled tight about her body and tried to think up a way out. It all needed to end. Grunnxe’s alliance with hell had to be broken, and his madness scorched from the world. She shivered and pulled the cloak tighter still. It hardly helped to fight off the cold of the night, but she was thankful at least that the canvas had been pulled down around the wagon, keeping out the worst of the wind that howled in from some cursed storm out on the White Swell.
Sounds of laughing soldiers could be heard, their ragged voices speaking in Chentuck’s native tongue marking them out as Ravenmayne. It seemed the Ravenmayne soldiers that travelled with Grunnxe’s army were taking after their southern comrades, indulging in gambling, drinking and abusing the villagers. Evelyne looked about the empty wagon. All that remained to show anyone else had occupied the filthy space were three crumpled cloaks on heaped-up nests of mouldering hay, and empty shackles snaking over the piled hay and onto the coarse boards of the wagon bed. Evelyne heard the laughter again, and wondered where Selby, Franny and Jo were. Had Jo woken up? Was it better that she never did? Perhaps it was better that none of them woke again.
The flap of canvas to Evelyne’s right began to shift. Someone was working at the bindings tying the material down to the underside of the wagon.
“Who’s there?” Evelyne hissed, her voice tight with fear.
“Quiet.” A female voice sounded from behind the waxed canvas. “It’s Yara.”
Yara. What are you doing here?
The lacing between where the canvas sheets met at the corner of the wagon began to split open, allowing a lighter shade of darkness into the space within the wagon. Evelyne could make out the pale shape of Yara’s face in the space.
“My lady,” Yara whispered. “There’s not much time.”
“What are you doing here? He’ll kill you if you’re caught.”
“He’ll kill me if his nostril hair curls left. There’s no telling when or why, but the longer I wait, the more certain it is I’ll die. No more time.”
“Why are you here?” Evelyne’s eyes were adjusting to the cold blue light of the night that slipped into the wagon around Yara’s face. The woman’s eyes were wide with fear, the whites standing out stark against the shadows of her face.
“The Slowblood. Have you got it?”
“The Slowblood? No. No, I don’t have it.”
“Fuck.” Yara’s head turned as another chorus of laughter sounded. “Can you tell me what it looks like?”
“Yes, but why?”
“For him. I can get to his food, to his wine.”
“It’s too risky. Give it to me, let me die. If I die, all of this can end. I carry something within me that has great power, and it must be freed. My death is the only way.”
“My lady, you carry a child within you. I won’t give you no Slowblood.”
Evelyne stared at the shadowy face between the canvas sheets. I carry a child. I carry a child. Kalfinar’s child.
“My lady?”
“I can’t be pregnant.” How long has it been? Am I late? Her mind counted the days and the weeks. I can’t be. It’s too fast.
“My lady, I’ve seen my share of women with child. I see it in you, in your face, and body. Reckon you’re about three months.”
Three months. Impossible. Impossible. “There’s no way. Three months ago I, I hadn’t–” Dajda has quickened it.
“Can you tell me? The Slowblood.”
“Yes,” Evelyne replied, pushing her musings to the back of her mind. “It is a mix of lichens. One is purple, the other yellow. They’re about on the rocks. It needs to be measured right, and ground to a powder if you’re planning to slip it into food or wine.”
Yara looked to her left again, then paused a moment. “I should be able to find some of it when we rest these next few nights.”
“There’s less chance the higher we get. Jessem may know what happened to the mosses they took from me.” Evelyne remembered the young man placing the drug-laced cloth over her face that night in Grunnxe’s pavilion before she could slip the Slowblood into his wine.
“Not sure we can trust him,” Yara whispered, looking left then right. “He’s shit scared worse than me. Not sure he’d not go squeal on me.”
“We just need to keep a lookout, and if there’s any chance as we go by foot, then we have to take it.” Evelyne thought a moment. “You brought him his cutlery tonight. A knife and fork. You could put that knife up in his skull, or throat. He had his back to you.”
Yara shook her head. “He’s too quick. He’ll hear it, sense it somehow. No. It has to be this way.” Footsteps sounded to the left of the wagon. “Have to go!” Yara’s face ducked away from the opened flap of the canvas and she was gone.
So it shall be this way, then. Poison, for him. Then what for me? How can I give myself to death, when I am to give life?
Seventeen