The Gully Snipe (The Dual World Book 1)

by JF Smith

  Thaybrill began to speak, but Gully interrupted him, “So this is how a king lives? It is beyond my imagination!”

  Gully’s comment caused Thaybrill to pause, and then he smiled wryly. “Your cabin is more of a home than any luxury this castle has ever provided, Bayle. Do not forget what makes a place a home.”

  Gully nodded, realizing that he did in fact agree with the prince.

  “I wish that I had met your father before,” said the prince. “He sounds to me like a very good man. Perhaps one day I will have that honor, if the stars will it.”

  He crossed the room to a cabinet and chose a sword from it — a short, but easily wielded one. Thaybrill added as he checked it, “Besides, these are just my rooms. The king’s quarters are above mine, and are much more exquisite. They’ve been unused for twenty years now, since I was born and my mother died giving birth to me. They’ve been prepared and readied, but I was not to take them as my own until the crown was on my head.”

  Thaybrill led Gully out and down a different, grander set of steps than the ones they climbed to get to his rooms. He threaded confidently through a confusing set of passageways and stairs, and Gully caught a brief glimpse of yet another grand hall that he had not seen before, one much larger than even the great Dining Hall had been. They exited through a door and Gully found himself at one end of the Courtyard of the Empyrean, which he had visited on one of his previous excursions into the Folly.

  They started to cross to the far end, towards the chapel, when Thaybrill felt at his belt and cursed under his breath once. “I forgot to retrieve my dagger, and I really feel I should have it,” he whispered in Gully’s ear. “Wait here, Bayle, in case Mariealle arrives with the Archbishop. I shall be only a moment in retrieving it.”

  Before Gully could readily protest, Thaybrill had disappeared. Gully stepped over to the procession of arches in the covered arcade that formed the outer edge of the courtyard. He stopped at the knee-high wall along the outer edge, lowered the hood of his chaperon, and peered over into the inky blackness of the ravine below. In the darkness, he could not see the bottom of it, but knew it to be quite deep. He leaned against one of the elaborate spiraling columns supporting an arch and glanced back across the courtyard itself, and the remaining torches gave enough light to where he could see reasonably well. The perfectly cut and set stones that paved the courtyard were engraved with the stars and constellations of the night sky, spreading out from one end to the far. The more prominent stars, and especially the stars of the Trine Range constellation, were gilded in pure gold. It struck Gully as quite an extravagance to have pure gold underfoot, serving no other purpose than decoration to be trod upon.

  Not far away, the massive armillary sphere stood silently, gilded even more decadently than the stars set into the stone floor. Gully wondered for a moment if Thaybrill even noticed these things.

  “Well, well!” came a sudden, snarling voice to Gully’s ears. “I knew you wouldn’t stay away forever, boy!”

  Gully had not even looked up before he already had taken the throwing knife from his belt and gripped it at the ready to throw at the source of the taunt.

  When he looked at the far end of the arcade, and saw to whom the voice belonged, Gully’s heart rose into his throat. There stood a tall man with a wiry constitution and hair of ashen white, holding Mariealle captive before him. He had one hand across Mariealle’s mouth to keep her quiet and his other hand held a sharp blade to her throat. Even in the distance, Gully could see a drop of crimson red where the knife already had dug into her beautiful skin.

  Gully slowly stepped closer, growling angrily under his breath at this man, and would have already thrown his knife and killed whoever he was, except the man was clever enough to use Mariealle to great advantage as a shield.

  “I was expecting you back soon, Thaybrill, after my men returned and said you had managed to wiggle free.” said the sinister man. “You look terrible, by the way... much the worse for your ordeal. The ragged, short cut of your hair does you no favors!”

  Mariealle struggled a little, and the man tightened his grip on her until she stopped. He continued, “I’m impressed that you managed to slip past my men that have been watching the edge of the forest for days now, and even those on the front gate tonight, but it does not matter. As expected, I knew the one person you would go running to if you managed to get back would be that fool of an old man, the Archbishop. So I’ve been waiting to see you. It’s rather amusing the only person you could rally to your side is the daughter of a merchant! As if she could do something of value!”

  Gully continued to stalk closer and closer, not saying a word, focused solely on how to end the life of this man, whom he now assumed to be the wicked Domo Regent in person.

  And what in the blazing lights of the night sky is he talking about? wondered Gully. Why does he so easily confuse me with the prince, whom he knows so well?

  One step closer and the Domo Regent took a step back, dragging Mariealle with him. “No, no, Highness! No closer now, or your pretty girlfriend will bleed out all over the courtyard! Stay back now!”

  Mariealle was as white as a sheet and whimpered as the dagger dug into her throat again.

  “Drop the toy blade you carry, prince! It serves no useful purpose!” demanded the Domo.

  Gully was so focused on what to do to free Mariealle that he barely noticed the look of confusion that unexpectedly crossed the Domo’s face.

  It did not register until he felt a presence and glanced over to see Thaybrill standing next to him with his hood down and sword drawn and at the ready.

  The Domo Regent shook his head, glancing between the two men facing him, and then turned even whiter than Mariealle already was. Whiter even than his own hair. As white as a man confronted by a walking ghost. He took an unsteady step back, dragging Mariealle with him.

  “No, no!” murmured Krayell in shock, “It cannot be! I had you killed myself! That night, so many years ago! How can you possibly be standing there unless as a phantom?”

  Gully glanced at Thaybrill, who looked as confused and unsure as he himself felt. Gully, though, had no time for irrelevant, nonsensical riddles and cared about only one thing. He shouted, no longer caring who might hear or see, “Release her, damn you! Your game is over, Domo Regent! The Lord Marshal is being arrested as we speak! veBasstrolle will be arrested before first light! And troops will be in place to repel the Maqarans before they even set foot on Iisen soil! Release Mariealle and the prince might go easier on you!”

  Gully wouldn’t have thought it possible, but the Domo Regent looked even more confused for a moment. It lasted for but a fraction of a second, though, because Mariealle chose that moment to kick back into the Domo Regent’s knee and pull away from him, causing the Domo to scream in agony.

  Mariealle stepped away from the Domo, and Gully was ready for her to run to them, but she stopped. She held her hand up to her throat for a moment, then pulled it away. Her hand was washed in bright red blood, dripping with it, where her throat had been cut as she had pulled away from the Domo’s clutches.

  Mariealle looked at her hand in confusion, then over at Gully, as if she did not understand what had happened. She opened her mouth and tried to speak a word to him, but no sound came forth.

  Gully screamed, “Noooo!” as he watched the crimson fire inside of her leak from her neck.

  The Domo Regent recovered quickly enough, and seeing the girl still standing there, he kicked at her with all his might, sending her tripping over the low outer wall of the arcade. Gully watched in horror, his heart completely stopped, as she teetered for a moment on the top of the balustrade wall, and then fell over into the deep ravine on the other side, her dark cloak blowing around her as she went over.

  Before Thaybrill or Gully could react, the Domo Regent fled.

  Gully ran to the edge of the arcade where she had fallen, his heart still, breath held, and his eyesight threatening to dissolve into blackness. But there, on the wall
, clinging to it was one porcelain hand.

  “Help, Thaybrill, she clings here!” he yelled, but Thaybrill was already at his side.

  Gully grabbed at Mariealle’s one hand that was free, trying to pull it from flailing about so he could lift her up. Just as he barely managed to connect the fingers of her free hand with his own, her grasp on the wall failed. The sudden weight almost pulled Gully over with her, but he flattened himself on the top of the wall and held tight to her, pouring every ounce of strength he had into the few fingers that kept her from falling.

  Thaybrill struggled to get close enough to grasp Mariealle’s other hand, which waved helplessly out in space over the coal-black emptiness beneath her.

  Gully fought valiantly to anchor himself so that he could free his other arm to better grip her without being dragged over the wall. The hand of Mariealle’s that he held, though, was covered in her own blood, making it slippery. He groaned in agony with the effort of trying to support her entire weight with no more than a few fingers.

  It was only a moment later that he felt her hand slip from his own, and she fell. Gully watched as the one and only time their hands had ever touched ended, and the depth of night swallowed his love whole, without a single sound.

  Chapter 25 — The Madness Of Almonee

  Gully’s mouth opened, but nothing came out of it. His eyes saw nothing but the empty night where the most beautiful thing he had ever seen had fallen. His body began to climb over the wall, with no conscious effort directing him, to scale down into the chasm to go after Mariealle, to bring her back.

  He had a vague sensation of hands pulling at him, pulling him away from the knee-wall, and yelling in his ear that sounded like it was shouted from a great distance. “NO! You cannot, Bayle! The wall is not scalable!

  He fell back onto the stone of the courtyard, eyes staring unblinkingly. All he saw were the lifeless, colored points of light in the sky staring back down at him. He realized that the prince lay next to him, panting from effort.

  “I’m... sorry, Bayle. She is… she is gone. She could... not survive such a fall... and neither would you!” said Thaybrill between pants.

  Gully’s vision began to fog and blur, and he let go. Sounds drifted into the distance, and his sight became no more than rough shapes and muted color. The only thing he could see clearly was his hand. It was the same hand that had held hers. The same one covered in her blood.

  He stared at this hand and time passed. He became dimly aware of people and voices, but nothing that resolved to something firm enough for him to comprehend. He felt arms around him, lifting him, urging him to stand, and so he did. He had the sensation of being led somewhere, but he couldn’t see where or judge how far away he walked. At some point, he realized that he was sitting, a soft blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He had the impression that there were many candles lit around him, their light dancing and waving quietly. He tried to focus on the candles, but all his mind would allow was for him to see the last trace of Mariealle’s soft curls of hair disappearing into the dark abyss. The last ember of her beautiful hair dying to blackness.

  Someone held something to his mouth, and a voice urged him to drink. Some sort of liquid slipped past his lips and into his throat, burning sharply, and finally bringing him out of his shocked state. His eyes fell down to his hand again, and saw the blood still there upon it.

  “Bayle!” a voice snapped sternly. “You must listen!”

  “Krayell!” yelled Gully with such ferocity that it caused Thaybrill and an old, balding man to jump back. “Did you catch that filthy son of a two-legged pig?! Is he dead?!” he screamed.

  Gully noticed that the guard, Dunnhem, had appeared at some point and was standing nearby with two other swordsmen whom he did not recognize.

  Thaybrill replied, “No, Bayle. We did not. He will not enjoy freedom for long, though. He is now a wanted man; alive or dead is of no matter, and I will not be choosy. The Lord Marshal is in irons and the traitor guards watching for me at the barbican gate have joined him as fellow prisoners.”

  Dunnhem added, “Once we nicked one of the swordsmen that was in on it, it took nothing for the names of the others to start spilling out like ale from a drunkard’s mug. It is not many, thankfully, and they cannot hide from us.”

  Gully shook his head from side to side slowly. He cared little for swordsmen or conspiracies or confessions or whatever seemed to be occupying everyone else. All that mattered, all that burned in him, was that Krayell was alive. The serpent was alive while his beautiful and delicate Mariealle was dead. Whatever else there was, good or ill, made no matter to him.

  The balding man had gotten closer and closer, though, until he was studying Gully from uncomfortably near.

  “I beg your pardon... who are you?” asked Gully wearily.

  The old man started back in embarrassment, but the smile on his face was very sincere. He said, “A man forever in your debt, my dear sir, for saving Prince Thaybrill, for keeping him safe, for... bringing him home.”

  Gully did not feel interested enough to press for a different answer.

  “But that answer does not tell you what you wish to know,” said the old man as he started studying Gully closely again and then glancing curiously over at Thaybrill. “I am Nellist Dibronde. I am the Archbishop of the church of Iisen. You are in my home, good Bayle, within the Nighting Chapel.”

  The Archbishop turned to Thaybrill and asked him, “You say Krayell referred to your friend, Bayle, as a phantom? He claims to have killed him?”

  Thaybrill put a supportive hand on Gully’s shoulder and replied, “I have never seen fear in his eyes the way I saw it this night, merely on sight of Bayle!”

  “Are you acquainted with the Domo Regent, good Bayle? Have you met in the past?” asked Nellist.

  “No,” said Gully resting his face in his hands. “Never. He thought I was you, Thaybrill, before you returned with your dagger. He said I, you... I mean, looked terrible for your ordeal, but he unquestionably mistook me for you,” added Gully.

  Thaybrill rubbed his chin in thought. “Perhaps his eyesight is not what it used to be!”

  Gully could not tolerate the idle and pointless talk any longer. He leaped up and said angrily, “I cannot stay here! This talk is mindless! I must go into the crevasse. I must...” His eyes started to sting and water and his throat almost closed. “I must fetch Mariealle’s body. I cannot... I cannot leave her there!”

  Thaybrill stood and pushed gently, but firmly, on Gully’s shoulders. He said kindly, “Sit, Bayle. You cannot go to fetch her, nor do you need to. Dunnhem has already sent men to enter the ravine where it is shallow next to the Bonedown and to retrieve her body, even now in the middle of the night.”

  Gully sat back down, feeling useless. He tried to wipe away the stinging in his eyes.

  “His eyesight is not under suspicion, my prince,” said the Archbishop.

  “Pardon?” said Thaybrill.

  “The Domo Regent’s eyesight is not deceiving him.”

  “I fail to understand, Nellist.”

  “Indulge me, Your Highness. And Bayle, you too, please. Come.”

  Nellist led both of them to the wall on the far side of his room to a mirrored glass that hung there, surrounded by an ornate gilded frame. It was a luxury Gully knew of, but had never seen one before for himself. The Archbishop stood both the prince and Bayle side by side so they could look into the glass together.

  The Archbishop said, “Look at yourselves and see if you see what I see...”

  They studied their faces next to one another for a moment and it began to dawn on them.

  The Archbishop commented, “Bayle, you are perhaps a little more slight in weight than the prince, but the face is the same.” He gestured up and down the length of their height. “You have the same height and build. The resemblance is uncanny.”

  Gully, past the novelty of seeing his own face so perfectly reflected, saw that the Archbishop spoke true. His hair was shorte
r than Thaybrill’s, but the same color and texture. They shared the same eyes and nose. All of the features that he studied seemed to correspond exactly. And yet, not quite. He saw that his cheeks were a little wanner, his build a little gaunter as the old man had said.

  “Thaybrill, you said Krayell claimed to have killed Bayle? Years ago, correct?” asked Nellist. Even Dunnhem was now sidling around and stretching to get a better look at the two of them to see for himself.

  “Yes.”

  “Did he refer to you by name, Bayle?”

  “No, he did not call me by any name except Thaybrill’s,” replied Gully.

  The Archbishop turned away in thought, drumming his fingers nervously on a gargantuan and ornately bound codex laying on a nearby table. The title on the cover of the book was so elaborate and deeply adorned that Gully could not even discern the letters to try to read it.

  “Beljehn,” said the Archbishop, turning without warning to an acolyte standing so quietly in the corner that Gully had not even taken notice of him. The young man could be aged no more than 14 years. “Go and fetch Almonee. Wake her if you have to. Tell her it is of extreme importance.” The young boy bowed his head and dashed away on his task.

  “Almonee?” said Gully in surprise. “The half-crazy beggar woman? Is that the Almonee you speak of?”

  “You have met her?” asked Nellist.

  “I do know her,” said Gully. “I give her coins when I can. She and my foster mother were friendly to one another. What has she to do with any of this?” Even the mention of Almonee’s name barely managed to pull Gully’s attention enough to distract him from the burning stone in his gut.

  “She was not always as you know her now. She was the nurse-maid to the king and queen until Sophrienne died. Well... I suppose I now should say until the queen was murdered, may her soul find peace in the sky watching over all of us! Stars have mercy! Our king and queen were both murdered at the hands of this vile man! The very stain of greed and wretchedness made into a man, living amongst us for all these years! When Sophrienne died, Almonee lost most of her wits and scrambled those that remained. But I and some of my elocutors have continued to see after her since then. We make sure she is faring as well as possible, but she is quite independent, even in her state.”