by Sharon Rose
The north to eastern walls revealed the extent of the common buildings. There were more than Tristan had first assumed. Broad spaces, as well. The horses rested in the one behind the stable.
Tristan paused to look closer at another expanse. “A training yard, I believe.”
“Aye,” Cotrell replied, nodding to the long building opposite. “That could be barracks.”
James pointed to a smaller building. “A shame that one has a tree growing from the roof. ’Tis likely ruined, but all in all, the structures look sound. Better than I would have expected. Cedar is a durable wood.”
Tristan held back an affectionate chuckle.
Cotrell grinned. “We no sooner stepped within walls, ere the steward inside you began to speak.”
“Nay, before,” Tristan said. “’Twas among the nut trees.”
James let his prim smile be seen. “What else would you have, my lord?”
Tristan clapped him on the shoulder as they turned to walk again. “I could ask for nothing more. You are all things as the need arises.”
They descended the tower on the east side of the gatehouse, marveling again at how well-stocked everything was. A pipe and tobacco tin in the gatekeeper’s quarters, arrows in every tower, lanterns and jugs of oil at primary entrances, and much more. The provisions of an occupied castle.
“One thing is certain,” Tristan said, exiting the final tower. “The staff of this castle intended to return.” His pulse quickened as he strode across the baily. “And now, for the mansion!”
Tristan ran up the steps of the courtyard—an elongated half-moon, paved with broad stones. The central area was open, and on either side, pathways spoked between weedy beds. Benches stood at regular intervals. James walked aside to inspect a statue, but Tristan strode on toward the marble archway, where two carved, wooden doors beckoned him. A door somewhere must yield access. Please, let it be these.
He grasped the gilded handles, cool within his grip. The doors shifted at his tug but didn’t open.
“Locked from within?” Cotrell suggested.
“Perhaps, but not barred.” He felt something odd within the scrollwork of the handles. Something that moved. Latches? He worked them until iron scraped. His pulse quickened again, and he stepped back, pulling the doors wide.
In one second, sunlight evicted decades of darkness.
The men stood spellbound. Tristan took a few steps forward, his boots sending soft echoes through the hall. A sound not heard in many a long year. He had a strange fancy that the mansion expelled emptiness through the wide-open doors.
White marble lined the floor and walls. Black marble framed a large fireplace and formed the balustrades of two curved staircases and a gallery above. Paintings in gilded frames, gold sconces between them, even the shadowed ceiling, twenty feet above, seemed to be decorated with relief carving. Out of harmony with all this grandeur, drab sheeting covered the furniture.
James lifted the nearest cloth and revealed a chair upholstered with satiny indigo.
Cotrell turned back beside the doors. “What a surprise. Oil lamps await us.” He rapped a striker and soon had three hand-lamps lit.
Archways at the sides of the hall led to other rooms. The men wandered through the right archway first and found a salon. To the left was a library. Two smaller arches on either side of the fireplace connected to an extension of the hall, which stretched to the back of the mansion.
James pulled aside heavy draperies, and light spilled in. “We must be beneath the wall walkway.” He twisted a latch, and the casements swung inward, allowing the western breeze to waft through. After a moment, James turned from the view to Tristan. “You say little, my lord.”
“I am too awed and puzzled,” Tristan replied. “Had I built this, I would never cease caring for it until I passed it to my heirs. And if not to heirs, to someone.” He shook his head, turning in a slow circle. “I could not bear to think of it unappreciated. Discarded. Who would do such a thing?”
Tristan shook off the mood. “There is much here to be seen. Let us divide and look quickly through the rooms, meeting at the center again as we complete each floor. In particular, I want to find access to the towers.”
This they did. James found the kitchens and cellars, which pleased him, but it was Cotrell who found the curved wall and door of the south tower.
Tristan could hardly keep from running ahead as Cotrell led the way to his find.
In the cool darkness of the tower base, Tristan felt like he was at the bottom of a well. A spiral staircase ascended through the center of a partial ceiling above him. Their lamps revealed a door at each floor, but they did not pause to look beyond. On the sixth level, windows pierced the walls. A writing desk and shelves filled with ledger books lent an official air to the room.
James gazed longingly at the ledgers, as the other two extinguished their lamps. He sighed as he set his lamp with theirs, then followed them higher.
Tristan moved away from the top step into a room encircled by windows. “Now this is a view worth the climb.”
The sparkling sea—so vast Tristan’s mind could not grasp it—stretched across the western reaches. The valley, descending below him, was still cloaked in leaves and contrasted yellow, orange, and red against the distant blue. North, he could make out the highest peak of the ridge, though most of it was hidden behind the hills. They looked like mounds from above, continuing one after another, as he walked around to the east. South lay the plain they had originally sought. ’Twas a swath of grassland so long, he could not glimpse the eastern end. The more he saw, the less he understood.
Beside him, Cotrell said, “If we had followed the plain, we would have found the castle.”
“Aye,” Tristan murmured, frowning. “Which raises even more questions.”
“What is this?” James asked, touching a brass tube mounted on a three-legged stand.
Tristan ran his fingers along the polished surface and pulled the leather cover off the end. Curved glass within. “Ah!” He stretched the word. “I hope it’s what I think it is.” Uncovering the narrow end, he bent to look through it. The forest across the plain jumped near. He laughed deep in his throat. He’d heard of such devices in Verenlia, but never seen one.
“Look through it, James.” He laughed again as James startled backwards from the view. “’Tis called a distance glass,” Tristan said.
Cotrell’s eyes glowed. “I’ve always wanted a glimpse through one of those.”
Tristan gestured for him to take a look. “Treat it gently. I believe the internal alignment is critical.”
Cotrell found no words at first, but his face revealed wonder and churning ideas. A moment later, he figured out how to work the swivel mount and began turning it to sweep the vista. Alternating between normal view and the glass, he said, “Do you realize how much this will help with mapping?” He seemed to recollect himself and stepped away with a nod. “Pardon, my lord. You must wish to see it, too.”
Tristan’s shoulders shook. “I’ll try to keep it short.” He turned the glass through a full circle, even though the north view wasn’t good without moving the stand. ’Twould be torment to keep it from Cotrell, so he stepped aside rather than moving it.
James meandered around the space, trying to stay out of the way of the swiveling glass. He found the sliding bolts to release the windows. “These could use a good cleaning.”
The corners of Cotrell’s eyes creased. “Open is quite good enough for now. Thank you.” He bent to the glass again.
James’s prim smile snuck out. “I gather you will be here for some time. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just see what those ledgers contain. Don’t forget to close the windows before you descend.”
Tristan nodded and began to circle the room as James left. Even without the distance glass, the view was amazing. Not just the beauty of it—discerning the lay of the land was far more critical. He studied it, pondering. “We are much closer to the plain than the ridge.”
; “Aye,” Cotrell murmured. “We took the long way around. The plain must be what Burk called the low route. Eastward, it dips between the two forests, probably muddy in spring.” He swung the glass along the far forest, then paused, his mouth agape. He straightened and stared at the seaward end of that distant woodland. “Those trees are incredible!”
“Indeed. I’ve ne’er seen nor heard of such.” Tristan took a moment to study them through the distance glass again. Vast trunks rose so high he couldn’t hazard a guess in feet. Nor could he keep the awe from his voice. “They look to be as big around as this tower.” The upper reaches were cloaked, apparently evergreen. Haze lurked between them. That, and the dark forest floor, lent an ominous air. “Intriguing though it is, that forest is the least of our concerns.”
He moved away to let Cotrell use the glass again and stared out to the sea. Though the view enchanted, his thoughts kept prodding the puzzle. “Why all this talk of the castle being hidden? ’Tis visible from the plain.”
“All I can reckon,” Cotrell said, “is that they don’t travel westward.” He straightened. “When no one at the inn could tell me the distance to the sea, I asked if they knew of anyone who’d been there. They looked at me like I was daft. One of them said, ‘What would anyone go down there for?’” Cotrell shrugged. “I suppose the vixicat stories could keep them away. Seems strange though. All this open land, and no one farms it.”
“That part could make sense. The land along the River Thane looks fertile, but it is too rocky to plow. They say the grass roots run as deep as tree roots. Trees can be felled and ne’er grow back, but grass always returns.”
Cotrell quirked a smile at him. “You’re beginning to sound like James.”
Tristan uttered a soft laugh. “I may not have a landed inheritance, but I was taught to manage an estate along with my brothers. There’s more to it than you would think.”
Cotrell tilted his head. “Why have you no land?”
The question caught Tristan off guard, sparking memory of disappointment. “My father intended that I would, though his own holdings could not be split among so many sons. That is why he set aside coin for me. He was still looking for suitable land when he died.”
Cotrell viewed only him now. “Why haven’t you sought land of your own?”
His father’s passing…nay, he couldn’t speak of that. Instead, Tristan said, “Youth at first, I suppose. Then a war you may recall, since you fought at my side.” He paused, but Cotrell only nodded. “Since then…” Tristan leaned against a windowsill. “Have you noticed a lot of land lying vacant around Moorelin?”
Cotrell’s lips twisted down. “I’ve never paid much attention. I think of land in terms of scouting, not owning. I wouldn’t even bother with a cottage if I hadn’t married and had children.”
His countenance fell a bit when he mentioned marriage, for his wife had died of a fever years earlier. His mother-in-law cared for his son and daughter, now. Though Cotrell rarely let it show, in moments like these, Tristan sensed how Cotrell missed them when he followed Tristan abroad. And knew just as well that Cotrell didn’t want to dwell on loss.
Tristan replied to his first comment. “There is no vacant land for you to pay attention to. Maybe a few parcels here and there, but certainly not an estate. ’Tis all so…settled.”
Cotrell’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “You are a strange mix, my lord. You want an estate, yet you want adventure, too.”
“Now, you sound like James!” He closed the nearest casement. “We’ve much of this castle yet to walk.”
They both closed windows and met on the north side. Tristan pointed. “You see how much grayer the distant hills look there. As though there is a wider gap before them that runs westward. Do you suppose it could be the ravine that Burk spoke of?”
“It may be.” Cotrell squinted at it a moment longer, and his voice dipped. “I think that’s where the black vixicat took the mare.”
Chapter 7
Within the Castle
Tristan and Cotrell descended the winding stairs and found James as engrossed in ledgers as they had been in the land.
“My lord…” He sounded spellbound. “Someone kept records here each dawn and sunset.”
Tristan pretended interest. “Oh?”
“Some are about the weather and such, but they also tracked the activity of the vixicats. Apparently, ’tis not always the same.”
That ended pretense. “What differs?”
“I’m not sure yet. They counted the number of fights each night. They seemed to know the size of the cat from its sound. The deeper yowls are from the biggest cats. If they’re mismatched in a fight, the biggest usually wins, though not always, and…” He paused. “They call the fights kills.”
“Strange,” Cotrell said. “Animals don’t usually kill their own kind, even when fighting for mates or territory.”
Tristan looked at the ledgers lying open and those stacked on the shelves. “What time span have you checked?”
“Little, my lord. I just pulled a few at random to get a feel for what kind of records they kept. They mentioned mapping the fights.” James gestured around. “Though, there are no maps here.”
Cotrell’s eyes had widened at the word mapping, and now he groaned. “I don’t suppose they said where these maps are, did they?”
“Of course not,” James replied with a taunting smile. “They would all have known.”
“We must continue our survey of this mansion,” Tristan said.
“Doubtless.” Cotrell picked up his lamp and relit it from the one James had left burning “But if anyone finds maps or storage tubes, I want to hear you shouting my name!”
They exited the tower on the second floor and split up again, then reconvened in the gallery after a quick check of each room.
“All that I see reminds me of Verenlia,” Tristan said, “but the style is much lighter. Not as gaudy as their current tastes.”
“True,” James said. “This may have been the mode when it was built or perhaps later. Many rooms have an even simpler style. More bare, wooden furniture, and also more deterioration in the textiles. I suspect that part of the mansion has been redecorated since the castle was first built.”
Tristan looked out from the gallery at a crystal chandelier, which hung over the front half of the entry hall. “Multiple generations may have lived here.”
“Castles take years to build,” Cotrell said. “They may have occupied gradually. I don’t suppose any of you found maps?”
“Nay,” Tristan said. “Let’s look over the third floor.”
James headed for the stairs. “Bedrooms, I would suspect.”
A central salon lay against the west wall, and beside it…was this a chapel?
Tristan’s pause, as he held the double doors wide, must have caught the attention of James and Cotrell, for they came to discover what he stared at. A stained-glass window such as he had never seen.
They walked slowly nearer. A rainbow in dozens of shades, subtly blended, filled the upper half of the window. Beneath it, a broad hill touched a clear prism embedded in the azure sky.
Tristan pointed to it. “In the evening, that must catch the rays of the sun and look much like a sunset over that hill.”
“I daresay you are right,” James said. “The embedded detail of the landscape exceeds any I’ve seen in Moorelin. Surely, ’tis a vineyard on the hill and a wheat field below.”
“Aye,” Tristan murmured.
Windows on either side, each a half-arch, framed the central masterpiece. Though clear, their beveled panes fragmented the view beyond. The sun, still high, cast flecks of color on the narrow table before the window.
“’Tis not a room for looking out,” Tristan said. “’Tis a room for receiving light within.”
“All in rainbow shades by sunset, I would think,” Cotrell said. “Pretty, I suppose, but it seems strange as the primary symbol in a chapel.”
Hm. Was there a reason? “’Tis said
that the story of the rainbow is in all the varied religions of the lands.” Tristan looked down at the alter cloth covering the table. ’Twas a simple rectangle, divided into two triangles from corner to corner—one side snowy white and the other black. At least, it must have been in days past. Now faded to murky gray. “In Moorelin, we say a rainbow represents hope and protection, but Verenlians interpret it as a marker between good and evil. They say the rainbow appeared when evil had almost won, then good resurged to start afresh.” He tapped the alter cloth. “The Verenlian symbol of light and dark in an eternal battle, which neither can win.”
Cotrell smirked. “The black side seems to have suffered irreparable loss.”
“Fitting,” Tristan said. “I find their symbolism puzzling. Never have I seen light fail to banish darkness. Indeed, darkness itself is only named when something else blocks the light. Thus, the moon glows to remind us that light is still shining behind us, even when the entire world blocks it.”
“Aye,” James said. “I do find hope to be the more useful interpretation of a rainbow.”
Tristan closed his fingers on the faded cloth and swept it from the table, revealing white marble. He handed the cloth to James. “Burn this. Let’s take a look at the other rooms.”
Mostly bedrooms, a closet full of linens, and a nursery with forlorn toys. One room, in particular, captured Tristan’s interest. Clearly, the master’s bedroom, adjoined to the mistress’s daintier chamber through an elegant sitting room. Tristan strode back to the master’s room, remembering what James had said of older styles. As he pushed the faded draperies from the window, an ominous tearing sound made him leave one side half closed. But that was irrelevant compared to what this room might hold. Perhaps some clue to the owner’s identity.
Tristan began opening drawers, the wood dark with age. Even clothing had been left. A large trunk held leathers and armor plates. Interesting, but not helpful. The writing desk, perhaps. The drawers beneath it held pens, ink, and paper, but when he lifted the writing surface, he found a book. Simply bound between two leaves of undecorated calfskin. What was this?