Wrath Of The Medusa (Book 2)

by T. O. Munro

“It is a dire story my Lady. I am sorry you had to hear it, but your husband is a traitor.” Kimbolt tried to take her hands in his, but she shook him off.

  Someone was shouting for the guards, but Quintala’s gentle lilt bid them be still.

  “Think my Lady,” Kimbolt urged as Giseanne wrapped her arms around her frozen husband, only the eyes moving furiously within his face. “He was with King Bulveld all the time you were. How better placed could he be to administer the curse that killed your father. Who else but he could move so freely and unseen about this palace, to strike down Kychelle in the Nursery and Hepdida in her sick chamber. Why else, when she had him at his mercy by the side of the Saeth, did Dema stay her hand and let him live?”

  Giseanne was shaking her head. “Kimbolt, you speak madness, this is the man who has loved me always, who has loved my child. Rugan is no traitor.”

  “Hepdida knows the truth of it,” Kimbolt said. “She can tell all, or will as soon as Mistress Elise is released to tend to her and she has sufficient time to let her memories return to her. Surely the greatest condemnation of your husband is that he would let the girl die, his only means to guarantee her silence.”

  “I had no part in that decision,” Giseanne asserted with a flick of her head.

  “Then let Elise be released, let Hepdida be cured this instant.”

  “It is already done,” she told him, enjoying a split second of pleasure in the midst of this nightmare. “The Bishop and the Deaconess have been working night and day to keep the sickness at bay.”

  She savoured his stunned expression as the clerics confirmed her words with brief nods and tired eyes. “They have also been feeding Mistress Elise a harmless mixture of crushed berries at my command. I fancy the dose of mind numbing juice that she was first given will have worn off by now and she should once more be able to administer her cure to the Princess Hepdida.”

  “That is so, my Lady,” Rhodra confirmed. “I have just now left the Mistress Elise with Hepdida. Though, as we know, the young lady’s memories may take a few days to reassemble.”

  “So you knew…” Kimbolt began.

  Giseanne jabbed a finger towards the Captain’s chest. “No! Do not presume I am your witness in this affair or that my actions speak against my husband in your monstrous story, Captain Kimbolt. I believe Rugan made an error of judgement, nothing more sinister. And I am sure he did so only to protect me from further pain. Just because I found a way to defy his wishes in this, does not mean I think him a traitor. Let us wait for Hepdida’s recovery and let us hear what she has to say as to who cursed her.”

  Kimbolt bowed his head. “Of course, my lady, but in the meantime, I would urge that the Prince is confined securely. Only you as Regent would have authority to do so.”

  “You would have me lock my husband up? in his own palace?” She accompanied the question with a steeply arched eyebrow.

  Whether it was Rugan’s fury or a weakness in Quintala’s spell, Giseanne could not tell, but suddenly her husband rolled free, his fingers working frantically in an enchantment.

  Again his sister beat him to the mark with a searing bolt of lightning that scorched the floor, the Prince just dodging clear. There were screams from the delegates. Sir Vahnce had pushed Leniot down and stood over him. Tybert and Maia cowered together.

  Rugan’s counterspell, a tongue of fire which Quintala quenched with a watershield, had even Merlow sacrificing his ecclesiastical dignity in the rush for the uncertain protection of a hanging tapestry.

  Steam filled the room as Kimbolt dragged Giseanne down. “Do you not see now, my Lady? He is condemned by his own actions.”

  “No,” she cried. “I will not credit it.”

  And then the sound and commotion was sundered by an unlooked for voice and a lilac flame as Niarmit commanded, “hold still all of you, in the Queen’s name, in my name!”

  And all was still, and the steam condensed to water on the walls and floor and through it all she saw Niarmit, standing tall, Tordil at her side, and in her hand come hot from Maelgrum’s hall was the Great Helm of Eadran the Vanquisher.

  ***

  Kimbolt stumbled to his feet with a hasty, “Your Majesty.” She was certainly majestic, face fierce, eyes blazing as she scanned the room. The half-elven siblings faced each other across the room, hands raised for another invocation, not daring to glance aside beyond the slight deference of a nod towards the Queen.

  The rest of the gathering emerged hesitantly from cover.

  Tybert broke the silence with a languid query, “was Nordsalve not to your taste, Lady Niarmit? Too cold perhaps?”

  The Queen ignored him, but Tordil gave the foolish lord a curdling look of loathing.

  “How is Hepdida?” Niarmit asked Kimbolt.

  “She is well, your Majesty,” Rhodra offered.

  “The Princess had a relapse, but Elise is with her now to see her mended,” Giseanne added.

  “There will be no further relapses,” Kimbolt promised grimly.

  “Oh,” Niarmit stepped into the centre of the room. “I am glad to hear that Captain, but how can you be so sure, and what uncivil argument have I interrupted here?”

  “Your Majesty,” Giseanne began. “Captain Kimbolt has accused my husband of being a traitor.”

  “He is exactly that, your Majesty, condemned by evidence and his own perfidious actions.”

  Niarmit nodded thoughtfully, scanning around the assembled company. “Spell casting indoors is such an unpredictable business.” She looked at the half-elves each poised to launch another spell. “Perhaps, Quintala, you might relax your stance.”

  The Seneschal gave her a quick smile. “Forgive me your Majesty, but I would do so just as soon as my brother first lowers, his hands. Not a moment sooner.”

  “So you can launch another lightning bolt at me, bitch,” Rugan spat. “Think again.”

  Kimbolt tried to gesture at Tordil, signalling him to bind Rugan in some magical snare, but the tall elf was oblivious either to his message or its meaning. The fruitless efforts to catch his attention, meant the Captain heard too late the Queen’s question, “what is this evidence then, Kimbolt?” So it was Giseanne who launched into an answer.

  “The Captain thinks my husband cursed both Hepdida and King Bulveld with a hideous wasting sickness.”

  “He was there both times,” Kimbolt interrupted.

  “I want to know who cursed Mistress Elise,” Tybert called out, but then fell abruptly silent when Tordil took half a step towards him.

  “The bastard turncoat would also have you believe I murdered my own grandmother,” Rugan growled. “All to stop poor Kychelle rallying the Silverwood into overt resistance to Maelgrum.”

  “Who else would have the knowledge to move with sufficient freedom about the palace for such murder and treachery?” Kimbolt retorted.

  “It is a scarcely credible story,” Niarmit agreed. “But I think Lord Tybert had the right question to be asking.”

  “Really?” In a room full of surprised people, Tybert was the most astonished of them all.

  “Tell me Captain, when did Elise fall ill?”

  Kimbolt did the subtraction out loud. “She is twenty nine now, she was twelve when she fell ill, her sister nine. That would make it seventeen years ago.”

  “What else happened seventeen years ago, Lady Giseanne?”

  “My brother Xander disappeared without trace, him and the antiquary Haselrig, on the same night and also there was a guard from the citadel dungeons left his post.”

  “Elise’s father left them,” Kimbolt had been puzzled at Niarmit’s questioning, but was suddenly swept up by seeing a link in the chain she was assembling. “She and her sister were ill, he told their mother he would take care of it, but he never came back.”

  Giseanne was nodding, “I remember the name now, Marius. Father said he had a family.”

  “The night that Xander and Haselrig disappeared, was the night that Maelgrum was released from his prison.” Niarmit
said. “A spell that required the combined effort of three traitors. Haselrig played the priest, Xander played the prince of royal blood, but they also needed a mage.”

  “And you think this Marius played the part of the Mage?” Sorenson suggested.

  Niarmit shook her head. “He was just a dupe, he provided the route in to the hidden halls where Maelgrum’s prison had been sealed. What fate befell him I cannot tell, but I hope it was quick. But how would you tempt a man, with two daughters, into treachery?”

  “They were sick?”

  “They were cursed, Kimbolt, cursed by the same hand that cursed Hepdida, that cursed Bulveld, by the same mage who unlocked the gem and released Maelgrum back against us. What would a father not do, if promised a cure for his sick children? There was only ever one piece to this puzzle, and I have been a fool not to have seen it.”

  “I don’t understand, your Majesty. Are you saying Rugan was the agent of Maelgrum’s release?”

  “I wasn’t there then,” Rugan growled. “It is well known. I had no word or meeting with King Bulveld nor strayed beyond my Province for ten long years. Between his rejection of my cousin’s bid for the throne of Undersalve full eighteen years ago and my marriage to his daughter a decade after that, I had no part in any of it. Not Xander’s disappearance, not Maelgrum’s release not the curse on the sorceress and her sister.”

  Niarmit murmured to the Seneschal, so softly that Kimbolt barely heard it, “tell me Quintala, have you ever given me any good advice?”

  The hairs on the back of Kimbolt’s neck rose up. He saw the half-elf smile, that familiar self-deprecating smile. “I have tried your Majesty,” she said. “But I am known for my hot headed impetuosity, which is sometimes a bar to wisdom, quite the opposite of my brother here.” She smiled, yes, but he saw the muscles stiffen in her casual stance, the tightening set to her jaw. Quintala?

  “Impetuous yes, always eager to drive a wedge between myself and your brother,” Niarmit said equably. “That might be just a little heated sibling rivalry perhaps. But then there was the inordinate time it took you to guide us to your brother’s camp before the battle of the Saeth.” The Queen stepped away and spread her arms. “By the Goddess how hard could it be to find the Gap of Tandar, and yet we arrived only just in time for the battle. And only then, because Tordil found a star to steer us by.”

  “Astronomy was one of the many studies I neglected in my youth, your Majesty.”

  “And who was it counselled we should ride still further south the following morning, in pursuit of zombies who were not there, who had already eluded us and gathered to attack Prince Rugan with overwhelming force.”

  Quintala shrugged, “so I am a poor general, your Majesty. Let us be grateful that you were in command that day, not I.”

  “Indeed, Quintala, indeed, let us be grateful for that mercy.” Niarmit frowned. “What of that poor caravan of refugees you and Jolander passed. How did they come to be discovered by the force of Undersalve and turned so timely into undead servants of the Dark Lord. How could Galen have known they were there, there and so vulnerable?”

  The half-elf’s mouth twitched in a smile. “A misfortune of war, your Majesty. There is no mystery in a pillaging army encountering a horde of fleeing souls.” She drew a breath and with it her expression clouded in anger. ”Have you forgotten so quickly, your Majesty, how I saved your companions at the battle of the Saeth? How I urged the archers to strike down the zombie task masters? Is rank ingratitude to always be the half-elf’s curse?”

  “You played the part of one of us, Quintala, but never led in the giving of good advice. Aye you would share it when you had no choice, when others had already pointed out the obvious. But then there were the small nudges of ill counsel that you gave, always sought to distract and to divide as far as you dared, while still holding firm to your position at the heart of our affairs.” Niarmit’s face was grim. “I had thought Maelgrum a mind reader, that he should so often be able to anticipate our moves and confound our aims. But the truth is a simpler tale of the old human weakness of treachery.”

  “Treachery is it, your Majesty?” Quintala spat. “What kind of treachery would have me riding like the wind to save you from a horde of Grundurg’s brethren by the side of the River Nevers. When first we met, I was saving your life!”

  Niarmit nodded slowly. “How came you there Quintala? What hope or foolishness had you lead a mere score of lancers into a wholly occupied land?”

  The half-elf gave a disdainful sniff. “Where foolishness is concerned Majesty, I must bow to your greater wisdom. I know not what trials you have endured, but I am sure I speak for all when I say they must have unseated your wits.” Quintala stifled a sob as she added, “what greater foolishness can there be but this suspicion.”

  “Oh, aye you saved our lives, you and twenty lancers. But what chance had brought you there? When I fought Grundurg he said he was waiting, waiting for an old elf that his Master wanted to meet. Maelgrum had cast an orcish net to draw in Feyril. He also spoke of Feyril eluding his pursuers. What servant could he have sent on a hunt to track down the Lord of Hershwood?” Niarmit paused by Quintala’s side as the half-elf kept a watchful eye on her glowering half-brother. “Who were you looking for, when you happened upon me, Quintala? What betrayal was in your heart?”

  The Seneschal shook her head, a moistness on her eye. “That is unkind, your Majesty. There were several of your forbears spoke cruelly of me, my blood and my skills, but I had not thought to hear such words from you. My service may have been imperfect, but it was whole hearted and loyal.”

  Niarmit turned away with a cry. “And so it appeared and that is why you were one of only four people who knew of Kychelle’s change of heart. Tell me, Quintala when you went for that walk in the forest that afternoon, what instruction did your Master give you. How eagerly did you strike your own Grandmother down?”

  As the Seneschal shook her head, Kimbolt saw the Queen’s face darken with a rage he had never seen before. “And Quintala, was it not you who bid me wait when first Mistress Elise came to us. ‘An hour or so to make some enquiries will do the Princess no great harm’ those were your words, and yet a few seconds more delay and Hepdida would have driven a knife into her own heart.”

  The Seneschal was incredulous. “Oh come your Majesty, how could I have known that Bishop Sorenson would leave his cutlery within her grasp, or have realised what the Princess was contemplating?”

  “Because it was you who told me to!” It was a small voice from a frail figure in the doorway, but Hepdida stood there, Elise by her side, an accusatory finger pointed at the half-elven Seneschal. “It was you, Quintala, you in the forest when first I saw the medallion, you in my sleep urging me to kill myself, you stepping through that grey window casting a spell upon Elise and driving me back into madness. It was you Quintala, always you.”

  “Always,” Niarmit echoed. “A part played with such conviction as to shame the greatest actors in the theatre. But you were his agent from the moment of Maelgrum’s release.”

  The Seneschal laughed. “Oh my poor dear Niarmit,” she said. “It was from long before that!”

  She was blindingly fast, Kimbolt had to concede. The shoulder charge she gave Niarmit, bowled the Queen over. Rugan’s long held spell went wide, arcing into the ceiling as the frightened company ducked again for the floor. Tordil, nervous of striking the Queen with a burst of mauve flame, had held his own attack and then had to duck as Quintala fired a bolt of lightning in his direction. Then the traitor Seneschal was running for the door to the antechamber, as the stunned group gathered themselves from shelter.

  Quintala poised in the doorway, arms raised and fingers flying as she summoned a crackling ball of lightning between her palms. “Remember!” she cried as the blue sphere of lethal energy streaked across the room.

  Kimbolt pieced it together afterwards. Of all the targets in the room that the traitor could have chosen, he would not have thought of that one. But Niarmit
had guessed, had worked out the Seneschal’s intent. The Queen had jammed the Helm on her head in the same fluid motion as she stepped in front of the Lady Giseanne. The lightning ball rebounded back along its path, crashing into the door that Quintala had just closed, bringing down doorway, lintel and not a little ceiling, in a shower of plaster and stone.

  When the dust settled, Kimbolt saw the Queen hastily removing the Helm with a look of some relief upon her face and Rugan kneeling before her. “Your Majesty,” the half-elf said.

  “My Prince,” she replied, raising him up and pressing him into the arms of his shaken wife.

  “She’ll get away!” Tordil was shouting by the door and Kimbolt followed at speed, the full flood of anger firing his limbs as he saw laid bare the myriad betrayals both great and small which Quintala had been guilty of.

  They had to double round the ruined masonry through a side passage to enter the antechamber and when they reached it, all they saw hanging in the air was a tall oval window into a dark black hall. Kimbolt and Tordil had both been intent on running through it, but a terrible sense of foreboding turned their legs to lead, long before the Queen’s voice called them back. “Don’t! You do not know where it leads,” and then as they stood staring into an evil place, the window shrank to a dot and disappeared.

  “That was how she moved around,” Kimbolt said, shaking his head. “No secret passages at all.”

  “No need for that, when the Master of the Planes has taught you his best tricks,” Tordil agreed.

  ***

  “There is no sign of her, your Majesty,” Kimbolt said. “Wherever it was she went, it was a long way away.”

  Niarmit was standing on the balcony of a fresh suite of rooms on the far side of the palace hugging herself. She had washed the stains of travel away and her red hair tumbled loose across her shoulders. The functional riding garb had been exchanged for a borrowed gown and a fur lined cloak guarded against the cold. The crescent and the Ankh both hung around her neck, the Ankh’s gem again a glowing coral colour.

  “She went quickly,” Niarmit said. “She could come back as fast.”