Freamhaigh

by Donald D. Allan

  Seventeen

  Royal Mausoleum, Munsten, March 902 A.C.

  JAMES DIXON GRUNTED shoving Martin up onto the ledge above them. Heather, already standing above on the ledge, used her draoi strength to pull him up and onto his feet. James knew that Heather was lending power to Martin to keep him moving. And myself, if I’m not too proud to admit it. But she helps me only when it suits her.

  The last few days had been nerve-wracking. They had passed through the main gates of Munsten without raising any suspicion or alarm. James had expected the entire Guard to descend on them and felt eyes on him the entire approach and passage through the gate. And then suddenly they were through. No one had even asked their names or destination. They found themselves on the main avenue and headed to an inn James had never been to. They stabled the horses and rented two rooms. They ate in silence in the common room and then went to sleep.

  That was yesterday. They stayed at the inn until dark and had a small supper in the common room. They left by the back door and used alleys and side streets to reach an area below the castle’s southern wall. Heather augmented their vision and James was able to find the remote area below the castle wall where he knew he could gain access to the interior. The Munsten castle was built on top of a massive rock outcrop. It was considered impassable by military minds. All approaches were exposed and the high walls were cut with arrow slits and overhangs to allow those inside to drop all sorts of nasty surprises on would-be attackers. The wall was formidable and shadowed the city all around it. It looked impenetrable but those in the Guard, and those friendly with Guard members knew of a secret way in and out of the castle that lay hidden high up on a rock outcrop. James knew they could get through the wall passage undetected, but the risk remained that someone would be using it this evening.

  Heather had scanned the area during their approach and reported no one around. They hid for a few hours until James was certain no one was going to use the secret passage. They started the climb in silence. Footholds were placed to allow those who knew where to climb an easy way up the steeper areas. There was a trail cut through the thorny brush that covered the surrounding area and hid them from view. They moved around large boulders and then ended up under the wide rock ledge. The castle wall towered above them on the ledge.

  James watched Martin dust himself off on the ledge before he jumped up and caught the lip and pulled himself up. He could feel the strain in his muscles and knew Heather was not helping him and he grinned up at her in the darkness, sure that she could see him just fine. He pulled himself up over the edge with an effort and then stood, his muscles burning in complaint. Martin clasped his back and pounded it once. James could hear Heather rolling her eyes. She just hates me for some reason. I love pissing her off now.

  James gasped for breath and tried to hide it. “Not much further and we’ll be inside. Heather, do you sense anyone?”

  There was a moment of silence before she answered. “Na.”

  “Okay, follow me.”

  James led the way along the ledge keeping close to the castle wall. The Munsten castle was walled with massive cut stone slabs. They each towered six feet in height and were cut so perfectly that the seams were barely visible. From the lower city, the wall looked smooth. Up close the imperfections and the grooves between slabs were evident. Whoever had built the wall had placed a small postern into the wall. It was hidden from the city by a rampart. James moved around the corner and pulled the others past him. He ran his hands over the wall in the dark until his fingers brushed a large iron ring. He grasped it and heaved. In the past, when he had come and gone by this entrance, it had been difficult to move the door on its hinges. The bottom had to be scraped across the rock base. With Heather adding to his strength he pulled it open with ease and his fingers slipped off the ring. He fell backwards and landed with a loud oof onto his tailbone. He sat there stunned and heard Heather giggle.

  “Lass, please, behave yourself!” chastised Martin in a whisper.

  “Och, I’m sorry. Hee! I’ll huv a go harder."

  James picked himself up and dusted his trousers with a hand. “Alright, very funny. Once inside no noise. Sound travels far in the tunnel. You’ll have to walk sideways the entire way through the wall. It rises pretty steeply. Almost impossible when you’re drunk. Follow me. Heather, you take the end and close the postern behind you. There’s a ring there.”

  Without waiting for a reply James ducked into the opening. Inside was a tunnel that led through the wall. The floor rose rapidly and travelled for twenty feet. The sound of the postern closing behind them was loud in the small space and James hurried as he crabbed sideways up the narrow tunnel. He could hear Martin huffing behind him. His stomach and back were touching the tunnel walls.

  James knew the tunnel like the back of his hand. He and his mates had snuck out the postern many times in the past. It was almost a rite of passage in the Army. Sneak out, get drunk, sneak back, and don’t get caught. Do that, and you are one of the team. Fail and live forever with the ridicule. I was never caught, James remembered. I was trapped in here for a day though.

  He reached the far end and found the ring. He waited until Heather joined them from behind. “Clear?” he asked her.

  After a pause she replied. “Aye, clear.”

  He pushed against the stone and it swung heavily. The base of the door dragged on the ground and made a large amount of noise. James didn’t hesitate or stop. He pushed it all the way open and looked about the small basement he found himself in. His enhanced night vision allowed him to see Martin and Heather and beckoned for them to come through. Once they were beside him he pushed the door closed and then grabbed the broom leaning in the corner and swept the marks on the floor clear.

  “Okay,” he said once he returned the broom to its spot. “We are in a storage room in the basement of the castle. Outside the room is a long corridor marked with many other doors to other storage rooms. Keep moving to the stairs and follow me up three flights. Heather, warn us if you sense anyone near. We’ll take the servant corridors to the back of the castle. From there we cross the garden. The Royal Mausoleum is beyond the rear garden. We need to make our way there. It’s a long way.

  “It’s a little past one in the morning. Guard change was an hour ago. The only thing I worry about is patrols and servants still up and about doing whatever it is they do at this horrible hour. Once at the tombs, we’ll talk again. No word unless it is from Heather warning us. Clear?”

  “Aye, 'twas clear th' four ither times ye described this,” said Heather and winked at Martin.

  James glared at her for a moment before turning and heading out of the storage room. Despite knowing Heather was using her powers to sense anyone near, he couldn’t help but pause and listen to be sure. He heard her exasperated exhale of breath, but ignored her.

  They made it to the stairs and up to the main level. James paused and looked around to be sure of his bearings. He glanced at Heather and she rolled her eyes and nodded and thrust her chin to get him to move. He scowled and took off down the corridor.

  A small hiss from Heather had them ducking into a small chamber with shelves filled with linen napkins. They were pressed in tight together in the cramped space allowing James to watch Heather and track her eyes. She was following whoever it was she sensed, unseen to either James or Martin. James heard the voices of two female servants walking past their chamber. They were gossiping about another female servant. Their voices drifted away and soon faded. Heather looked at James and then realised their closeness. She frowned. James beamed a smile at her and winked. Heather growled and pushed open the door and fled into the hallway.

  They made their way through the back corridors until they stopped at a small prep kitchen. James went to the exit and looked back at Heather. Martin found a small tray of pastries and picked one out. He popped it into his mouth and chewed and looked around. He was breathing normally and seemed far too calm for his normal temperament. James suspected Heather w
as calming him. When she nodded, he opened the door and moved out into the garden area. Snow covered everything except for the cleared walkway. His feet crunched on ice and snow, but he didn’t stop moving. The path wound around snow-covered statues and frozen fountains. Benches were nothing more than mounds beside the path. Trellis work held the remains of thorny vines and in the pale moonlight, the garden had a feeling of death about it.

  James kept to the right and glanced back only once at the high towering walls of the main castle. The windows except for the odd one were all dark. The castle was asleep and would not wake for hours yet. The next guard change was at four in the morning. If this goes well we will be in and out in an hour or two, thought James just as they reached a large stone building built into the rock. The Royal Mausoleum was very ornate. Large marble blocks, meticulous carvings, and massive pillars gave the impression of immensity and sombre reflection. The truth was the building was nothing but a facade. The front of the building was built up to obscure the fact that the tombs were built deep inside the rock outcrop. History recorded it was once a large natural cavern.

  They approached from the shadows and stepped carefully down the ice-covered stone steps to the main entrance. Large double doors stood tall and chained, towering over the three of them. James barely glanced at the doors. Instead, he moved to his right to a small door inset into the right door. He pushed on the latch and the door swung open with a squeal. James gritted his teeth and ducked in. The others followed, and James closed the door behind them.

  “Okay, we’re here. Well, sort of. We’re at the entrance to the Royal Mausoleum. Each monarch has been laid to rest here in a tomb made just for them. Except one. The last King. He was buried here officially after he passed away in captivity, but it was an empty casket they placed in his tomb. Only the Guard knew what had happened. They feared his grave would be desecrated. So they buried his remains elsewhere inside. I know where. I worked a long time here in the Castle in the Army. I also drank a lot with the Guard. I pieced together the truth after a time.

  “There is an area of the tombs where those special to the Crown were buried to honour them. They moved the King there. We’ll pass the King’s actual tomb on the way. I think we should be certain the story is true, eh?”

  Martin nodded in the dark. “Yes, best be sure.”

  James headed into the mausoleum. The floor, walls and ceiling were white, cold marble. Statues of late monarchs lined the walls and glared down at them for intruding into these sacred halls. His skin crawled knowing where he was. The cold of the outside had permeated deep into the building. Their night vision was almost like being outside in daylight, except everything was shades of blue, black and grey. They pushed deep into the building. A small Church service area filled the front area, but they stopped at large gilded gates that marked the entrance leading deep into the bowels of the mausoleum.

  They opened the gates and spied the first of the ornate stone burial vaults. At their base, they could see thick brass placards engraved with the name of the ruler and their birth and death dates. The ones at the front were ancient, dating back centuries. They observed two vaults before they broke into a trot at James’ urging. The floor tilted down ever so slightly. On each side, rested more burial vaults. Sometimes a bust or statue had been placed on top. Otherwise, they were identical. James scanned the placards and then stopped before one.

  “Here,” he said and pointed at the placard. It read “King Harold Hietower. 830 A.C. to 878 A.C.”

  Martin read the placard and looked at the burial vault. He grimaced. “This will not be pleasant. I’ve never robbed a grave before. May God forgive me.”

  James grunted and moved to examine the vault. The top was at his shoulders. He leaned down and spied the deep grove marking the lid. “We’re not robbing it, Martin. It should be empty. If I had to guess, I would think God wanted us here. Look here: the top might slide back. I don’t see any mortar or anything. Heather, can you lend us your strength?”

  Heather sucked at her teeth and stepped forward. She placed her hands on the top of the vault and pushed. She strained a moment and James and Martin stared at her. They could see blood rise to her face and then heard a quick scrape. They looked to the vault and saw it had moved back a fraction. Heather seemed to concentrate and then suddenly the lid slid back two feet. Heather stepped closer and pushed again this time with more ease. The lid slid back another two feet. The back of the lid hung out over the open space. Any more and it would topple off the end. Heather stepped back and blew stray hairs out of her face. She looked at Martin and seemed proud of herself.

  “Well done, Heather,” said Martin and smiled.

  James sniffed the air. “Smells stale, not rotten. A good sign?”

  Martin’s smile faltered.

  James gripped the edge of the opening and used his toes to stand on a lip to lift himself up to look into the vault. “Martin, come up here. There’s a coffin inside.”

  Martin made the sign of the Church before lifting himself up opposite James to look inside the vault. “Yes. And rather plain looking.”

  “It looks like it opens on your side. You have the honours.”

  Martin reached in with one hand and fumbled on the edge of the coffin lid. In a moment he found an edge and lifted the lid an inch. He sniffed and paused a moment before lifting the lid until it banged on the vault lid.

  “Can you see inside?” asked James.

  Martin nodded and dropped the coffin lid. It closed with a soft bang. “Filled with rocks. Otherwise, it’s empty. Just as you said it would be.”

  “Good. That’s promising. Let’s close this up and move on.”

  In moments they pushed the vault lid back in place. They gathered before the placard and read it again to be sure. James looked down the wide hallway lined with more vaults and dusted his hands.

  “The Honour Hallway is just a little way ahead.”

  Martin looked at all the other vaults standing dark and gloomy along the walls. They all lacked a placard in front. “I assume these are for future monarchs?”

  “Yes, this tunnel goes on for quite a distance. They built the vaults in advance. To make sure they would all be the same. In death, the monarchs are all equal.”

  “Except fur th' wee statues oan some,” murmured Heather looking back the way they had come.

  “Some kings and queens were more favoured. It’s true. They allowed small exceptions. Shall we go?”

  The others nodded and walked beside James. After a few dozen feet the tunnel branched off to the right. The stone archway was engraved with words foreign to James. Martin looked up and nodded.

  “What’s it say, Martin?”

  “An old forgotten language, it says Hall of the Honoured.”

  “Odd place to place the insane bastard,” joked James.

  “He was still the king,” snapped Martin. “Head of my Church. He was next to God.”

  James looked away for a moment. “Sorry, Martin. A poor choice of words on my part.”

  Martin shook his head. “I’m sorry, too. This place is sacred ground. We tread amongst the remains of the great kings and queens of the Realm. All of them were the head of the Church and spoke for God. I am humbled here and feel the thief. I am ashamed. My words came out harsher than I meant them.”

  “Don’t be ashamed, Vicar Jordan,” said James and gripped Martin’s upper arm. “You come here today to return the land to a monarchy again. To place the rightful heir to the throne of Belkin. I would think these kings and queens would honour you, my friend. This is a noble task we have before us.”

  Martin looked up at the words. He looked at Heather and she looked oddly surprised but nodded at him in agreement.

  “Come, I want to get out of here as quickly as we can. Heather, can you sense ghosts?”

  Heather snorted. “Ur ye dunderheided as weel as thick? Thir's na sich things as ghosts."

  James didn’t answer and walked under the archway into the Hall of the Honoure
d. The corridor was half the width of the previous one and the vaults much less ornate. Small brass plates revealed the owners of the vaults and they read each one as they passed. After a time, James stopped at one and knelt down. He used his hand to remove years of dust to read it better.

  “General Ran Pawley 892 A.C. Seems those honoured here only have the year of their death marked.”

  “Who was he?”

  James snorted. “A traitor as it turned out. Quick, let’s open this up.” He stood and looked at Heather and gestured toward the vault. She smirked and stepped up and placed her hands on the lid and pushed. This time it slid open with little effort. A sweet and foul odour wafted out of the opening and all three backed up and coughed to clear their lungs.

  James was the first to recover. “By the Word, let’s wait a moment.”

  “Agreed,” said Martin.

  Heather looked a little pale to James, and she hung back a little farther.

  After the smell seemed to lessen in strength, they moved forward and looked inside covering their noses and mouths. A wooden coffin lay inside. It was split with age and the lid sagged inwards. James reached in and gingerly pulled a piece of wood away. The remains of a person in uniform lay inside, dried and twisted in death. James looked up at Martin.

  Martin peered in. “Ran Pawley, I assume?”

  “Yes, the bastard that he is.”

  “And the remains of the King? Where are they?”

  “You won’t like this.”

  “I already don’t like this.”

  “He’s underneath Pawley.”

  “What do you mean underneath?”

  “The coffin of the king was placed in the vault first. Pawley’s was placed on top of it.”

  “And you are sure of this?”