The Wrong Scapegoat: A Mythic Fantasy Novel (Ravens of the Morrigan)

by Cornelius Flynn

  Phineas glances over at the huge grin on her face and shakes his head.

  “Very well. You can go along to ensure that no more die unnecessarily, as long as you keep her in check.”

  Wildcat pouts. “I don’t just kill for fun you know.”

  “If only that were true.” Phineas turns to the others.

  “We also need to find out how the capture of our Piper came about and who might be involved in this plot. The only person I can think of who might have that information is the Lady Bronwyn, from what you’ve all said.”

  Filippo looks thoughtful. “They’re holding state funerals tomorrow morning for the murdered bodyguards. Full pomp and ceremony and everyone from the castle will be there. Perhaps we could isolate the lady and have a little chat with her while, these two are investigating the health of her husband?”

  Lightning finishes chewing another mouthful of bread.

  “The two of us could pull that off. Filippo is about normal size for this town now. Neither of us will stand out. All we have to do is catch her on her own for a few minutes. I’m sure she won’t be guarded quite as well at the temple as she is at the castle.”

  Gwen and Phineas glance at each other before they both nod in agreement.

  “Tomorrow morning it is then. Make sure you’re all well rested. We don’t need any more little incidents, do we?”

  Chapter 16

  The morning of the funeral arrives.

  The air is crisp and the sky is clear, for once. The cobbled courtyard of the castle is still damp from the melting of the morning frost. A raven perches on the wall above the stables and observes the preparation of the royal carriage.

  The stable-hands are rushing back and forwards ensuring that everything has been soaped, waxed and polished. All wearing thin gloves provided for the purpose so they will leave no mark upon the brasses of the pair that will pull the carriage to the temple.

  Inside the castle the Lady Elena hugs her sister-in-law tightly, whispering into her ear. After a time, Bronwyn takes a deep breath and straightens her back as she helps her adjust the fur cape that covers her shoulders, and the silver circlet that adorns her brow.

  “Remember, we are not doing this for ourselves, this is for the people and to honour the fallen.” She straightens Bronwyn’s dress. “This will unite the town against those whose foul attack is responsible for the state of your dear husband.”

  Bronwyn sniffs and takes another deep breath, steeling herself for the journey ahead. “Will you sit with me, dear sister? I don’t feel strong enough to face this alone.”

  “Of course I’ll sit with you. David can acknowledge the crowds without me by his side. After all, he’s the one they’ll really want to see.”

  The two women walk towards the entrance of the great Hall, stopping at the steps to compose themselves. They descend and pick their way over the damp cobbles to the carriage. Taking seats facing the rear, they sit side-by-side, hands clasped together in the chill mid-morning air.

  Having waited a suitable amount of time to allow the two ladies to regain some composure, Prince David and Captain Yovvan leave the hall and take their places. David sits facing the women and looks over the heads of the pair of magnificent horses to see the two simpler carriages that will carry the bodies of the four guards to their funerary rites. He nods to the captain.

  John Yovvan marches to the front of the procession and gives the order to lead off down the gentle slope into the town.

  The whole population has come out to watch them as they leave the castle bounds and enters the town proper.

  Everyone bows their heads as the two carriages bearing the bodies pass by, and acknowledge the presence of Prince David and the two ladies.

  He sits upright, tilting his head to one side and then the other so the crowd know he’s seen them, but this isn’t a day for hand waving. The two ladies likewise present an appearance of dignity, forbearance and sorrow as the procession, at a slow marching pace, makes its way through the town.

  As they approach the temple grounds along the single avenue, David sees that the marshal and his troops line the way. All snap to attention as the parade reaches them and salute. They stand like so many statues as the they pass by and enter the main courtyard where the Lord Abbot, and his retinue, in full regalia, wait to receive them.

  The abbot walks forward, his staff of office tapping the floor with each alternate step as he approaches the biers that carry the fallen. Two of his monks follow, swinging censers filled with slow-burning, aromatic herbs and incense. Smoke hangs heavy in the air across the courtyard in the stillness of the morning.

  He makes the sign of the cross towards the gathered crowds as they all bow their heads in respect.

  The castle guards take possession of the simple coffins, line up together and march slowly into the temple, followed by Prince David and the two ladies in their robes of office.

  Sometime later, after the official rites have concluded but before the bodies are borne to their final burial place, the abbot climbs to the lectern, on a raised platform at the front of the temple. The four simple, wooden boxes lie at the foot of the altar, now garlanded in yellow satin flowers.

  “We gather here today to pay our respects to four brave men who should not be dead. To four men who were strong in vigour, full of youth and vitality. To four men who gave their lives defending Prince Llewellyn Pentrev against foul enemies of this land.”

  He looks around the temple which is filled with the townspeople. Many are standing two and three deep around the edges to see him wave his arm towards a group seated by the new prince and his wife.

  “Their families join us today to witness their passage into the Heavens where they will receive an eternal reward from Our Lord and Saviour for their courage and sacrifice, but this should not have happened.”

  He extends his arms wide taking in the whole congregation. “All of us gathered today are horrified by the deaths of these brave souls and the suffering endured by the families they have left behind. This brutal and cowardly attack took place on the streets of our own town. These cowards must be found. They will be rooted out and they will be punished.”

  A general murmur of approval rises within the temple.

  “These acts were perpetrated by the followers of evil gods and foul sorceries. We don’t know exactly what they sought to accomplish, but we do know that they must not succeed. I call upon all of those loyal to our Saviour, loyal to these four of his sons who lie here slain, and loyal to our stricken Prince, to root out this evil and have nothing to do with these followers of these so-called ‘Old Ways’.”

  He thumps his fist upon the lectern and raises his staff high in the air.

  His voice booms out across the temple. “May the light of the True God shine down upon us all and drive out the darkness.”

  At this carefully rehearsed moment, acolytes higher up in the temple align a series of mirrors that reflect the beam of the bright, almost noonday sun directly onto the crucifix mounted atop the altar.

  It glows like it’s on fire. Everyone gasps and rises to their feet in reverence.

  “The service is ended. Go in peace to love and serve the Lord.” The abbot bows to the crowd and leaves the altar.

  One of the monks takes his place and speaks quietly to the crowd.

  “There will now be a time where any may come forward to pay their own tribute to these brave souls.”

  Lightning and Filippo shuffle around with the large crowd, listening to the abbot’s sermon and trying not to shake their heads.

  “It’s a nasty business.” The Cooper says to no one in particular.

  “That it is.” Filippo replies. “Do you think they’ll catch them?”

  The Cooper sucks his breath in through his teeth. “I can’t rightly say. They certainly seem to be trying hard, but I wonder if maybe they ain’t long gone by now. I sure wouldn’t hang about after doing something like that when everyone in town were looking for me.”

 
“I’d agree with that.” He points to the coffins at the front. “At least the guards are getting a good send-off.”

  “That they are. Full honours and all that. Not many as can say they get buried that way.”

  “Were they regulars at the temple then?”

  “I don’t think so. I knew one of them fairly close like, and he was more regular at the tavern. Still, it’ll make his family proud.” He nods toward the group of dignitaries. “I mean, look at them, sat up there with the prince and the fine ladies. They won’t forget this in a hurry.”

  He agrees, and they allow themselves to move forward with the crowd who wish to pay their respects to the family, and to the dead.

  The marshal stands at the back closely observing the crowd trying to detect any sign of someone behaving unnaturally, but everything seems normal.

  “You really think they’ll come, marshal?” The Capo Borealis asks, concealed within his robes at the man’s side.

  “I’m certain of it.” He looks around once more. “To be honest, I think they’re already here. Unfortunately we don’t know what they look like. It’s far too easy for them to blend into a crowd of this size.”

  “How do you hope to spot them, then?”

  “I am unsure, my good monk, but I shall do my best as will my men. I don’t know what they hope to accomplish here. They may simply want to observe, but in my experience, whoever they are, they won’t stay away from an event like this.”

  “You think they hope to gain intelligence?”

  “After the break-in and the troubles that they’ve caused, I’m certain that they’ll be trying to determine who’s behind the plot.”

  To the casual observer he is ensuring that everyone in the crowd is treated fairly, whereas in reality he seeks any aberration in behaviour.

  “They’re obviously clever. Even though there’ve been sightings of them, no one seems able to describe them well.”

  “You mean the tales of the ghost who climbs walls and the giant, I presume?” The Capo smiles.

  “Yes.” The Marshal answers dryly. “Just that. I suspect they have some special abilities, but then, so do we.”

  The two members of the Mórrígan’s Ravens finally reach the front of the temple to pay their respects. Bowing to each of the four coffins, and touching them as they have seen all the other townsfolk do.

  They offer condolences to the families and move to the side to watch for an opportunity to contact Bronwyn.

  She sits at the front, acknowledging everyone as they pass, her eyes filled with tears. All she wants is to be by her husband’s side and have him awaken, but she understands duty. It is important that this honour is given to her husband’s bodyguards. They died fighting to save him and, were it not for them, he might be dead too.

  She rises and approaches the families who immediately jump to their feet, to bow and curtsy before her. She waves her hands to stop them.

  “No. Take your seats. Your husbands and sons and brothers gave their lives for my Llewellyn. It is I who must thank you. I knew all of these men, and they were our friends, not servants. It is of no great comfort right now, but I will see to all your needs. The town has suffered a loss, but none greater than yours.”

  They all remonstrate with her as she clasps hands and thanks each of them for the sacrifice of their family. Tears flow as they’re overwhelmed by her sincerity.

  She can no longer contain the weeping and excuses herself, walking as steadily as she can to the ablutions along the side hall.

  “This is your chance.” Filippo nods as they watch her progress.

  “A little distraction might help.” Lightning is smiling.

  He thinks for a second and lets the crowd jostle him sideways, into a large cast-iron candleholder, which he knocks over. It falls with a loud bang and crash.

  While all eyes are on him, Lightning makes her move.

  Those on the periphery of the hall feel a breeze. Their faces and necks momentarily chilled. Several make a sign of warding, believing that the spirits of the dead men are passing by.

  Bronwyn enters the small wash room and turns to close the door behind her feeling that same breeze. She shivers.

  The basin has fresh towels laid by its side. She takes the water in her hands and dabs at her eyes hoping to reduce their puffiness.

  A voice behind her shatters the silence. “I think we need to talk, my lady.”

  Her hand flies to her mouth and her lungs fill, ready to scream, but Lightning is too quick for her. She finds this dark woman’s eyes in her face. The palm of her black hand standing out against the pale skin, as it lies across her lips.

  She watches Bronwyn’s eyes. “I have no weapons. I am not going to hurt you. I am a friend of William.”

  She removes her hand from her mouth and steps back slightly.

  “Is he alright?” Bronwyn whispers. “I tried to make them stop, but they kept hitting him.”

  “He’s fine, much tougher than people think. He wants me to tell you that he’s loyal to you and Llewellyn. He had nothing to do with this plot.”

  “I never truly believed he did.” She replies, eyeing this dusky woman standing mere inches from her face. “Dear, sweet William.” She leans back against the wall, her shoulders slump and her head droops. “But, those things they found in his house, and the strange way it was built, and the brooch that Llewellyn gave him. I am so confused.”

  “We came to help him after he was falsely accused. Whoever is behind this plot went to great lengths to make him look guilty. Fortunately, we’re capable of poking them out of their little holes and finding the truth.”

  “So someone hated William and wanted him to take the blame?”

  “I don’t think so. They made a mistake.” Lightning throaty chuckle resonates in the small room. “They thought William was what he appears to be: a fop who’d be rounded up and hanged for murders he didn’t commit, and their plot wouldn’t be discovered.”

  “So what is he then? Is he a demon, or a dark magician, like some have said?” Fear is visible in her eyes.

  “No. Not at all.” Lightning laughs. “William is just someone who can take care of himself. They thought he was a fool, they chose the wrong scapegoat.”

  “I never thought William was a fool, he can be very funny though. Llewellyn loves to joke with him.” She takes a deep breath. “Oh my poor Llewellyn. What have they done to him?”

  “We don’t know exactly yet, my lady, but we’re working hard to find out and make him well again. I have to warn you that those who plotted against him are probably in this building.”

  Bronwyn’s mouth falls open. “Here? Are we safe? Are they planning to attack David too?”

  She moves towards the door. Lightning’s arm halts her.

  “No. I don’t believe they’re planning to attack David.” Lightning gently places her hands on the princess’s shoulders. “We’re safe for now, but you must be careful and listen to what I have to tell you.”

  Lightning explains what they discovered in the hidden areas of the temple and what it may mean.

  “I can’t believe that the abbot is behind this.” Bronwyn says. “I mean, it just doesn’t make sense.”

  “No. We don’t think he is either. Perhaps he, and many of the others, truly are what they seem. Yet, this foul scheme originated within this building.”

  “I don’t believe William is responsible, but I find it equally difficult to believe that monks plotted this attack. They somehow carried it out and murdered these poor men, and now bury them with honours?”

  “The things we found in the hidden chamber show that those responsible weren’t true followers of this One God religion.” Lightning glances at the door and listens for a second. “I’ve taken too long already. The plotters are well hidden and when we know more we’ll move against them.”

  “The monks are caring for Llewellyn, is he safe? Should I send them away?”

  “That I don’t know. All I can suggest is that you ensure t
hat men who are loyal to Llewellyn are with him at all times. Have them watch what his carers do to him.”

  Bronwyn begins to reply just as the latch rises and the door swings inwards.

  A puff of air greets Elena as she enters, looking puzzled. “Who were you talking to?”

  Bronwyn turns back to where Lightning stood a moment before to see that the room is empty.

  “No one, dear sister.” She sighs, her mind racing with new information.

  “Oh you poor thing.” Elena rushes over to her side. “Come, we really must get you back to your room and settle you down with some wine. I hadn’t realised how distraught you’ve become.”

  Chapter 17

  “I’m sorry Gwen I know Piper really wants to do this, but we should have sent Lightning. She’d be in and out in seconds, and we’d know exactly what was happening.”

  Wildcat slips daggers into the sheaths at each calf.

  “I told you, I’m doing it.” Piper finishes buckling his doublet.

  “Unfortunately, Lightning has the speed to do this but not the care.” Gwen leans against the bar and taps her chin with her finger. “From what you told us about the temple, there may be traps set at the Castle. They could let them know that she was there or even hurt her. You can’t be careful when you travel at the speeds she does.”

  “Well, won’t these same traps and things catch us when we go?”

  Wildcat straps a bandolier of six throwing daggers down her left side, cinching the belt tightly at her waist.

  Gwen stands with her fists on her hips staring at the seemingly innocent girl.

  “We have to be prepared. I told you.” Wildcat grumbles. “We can’t go in there unarmed. If they attack us, we’ll have to fight our way out.”

  “Just as long as we’re clear: self-defence only, and Piper makes the call, not you.”

  “My dear Gwen, the Piper always calls the tune.” He smiles. “You should know that by now, old girl.”

  Gwen pulls a face. “That’s what worries me. Sending you two together to do a job is a recipe for disaster.”