Ghost in the Yew: Volume One of the Vesteal Series

by Blake Hausladen

  The bounce of the carriage startled me. I had not ridden in one since I arrived. I wondered if I would ever get used to it, but resolved myself to try.

  My escort napped most of the trip and said nothing at all while she was awake. My daydreams were happy for the quiet. Only the occasional rub of her fat legs against mine disturbed my visions. I owed my prince everything and I would make him happy.

  The road improved as the low hills gave way to wide fields which, in turn, gave way to the paved streets of the capital. The city’s high walls, wide river, and teeming masses filled me with joy. The buildings grew large and the crowds more refined. Next came gilded gates, cupola topped towers of tan stone, and the palace at last. It rose high above the city, made of white stone and polished metal. Here it was—my new home.

  My heart fluttered again despite my best effort to remain calm as the carriage entered a wide tunnel I knew from my reading. It moved beneath the Deyalu, the long wing of the palace where the princes lived. The traffic was astounding. So many wagons and carriages, all of them full of important people or things, all of them the property of my prince and his brothers.

  The carriage came to a stop near a set of tall doors. A pair of stately men waited before them. Their yellow silk dalmatics and silver refinements were those of senior members of a household. I’d never seen such finery in person and struggled to identify their station.

  One of the pair opened the coach door and offered me his hand. “Welcome to the Deyalu, Lady Dia. I am Gensish, Alsman to Prince Yarik and my fellow here is Babsi, Alsman to Prince Barok.”

  “An honor,” I said as I accepted his hand and exited with all the grace I could muster. I had not expected so esteemed a welcome. You could not have more power or privilege at the capital unless you were born a Yentif.

  I looked to Babsi to continue the greeting.

  Gensish spoke instead. “A meal is being prepared for you and a room has been set aside in the Servants’ Quarter. A girl will be here presently to show you the way. After the meal, you will go to the booking room and sign your pledge of service.”

  “Signed to Prince Barok,” I said, unsure why Yarik’s alsman was talking and not my prince’s man.

  The two men shared a look before Gensish said, “Yes, yes of course.”

  Had I misspoken? I held my expression and posture steady, but my insides were a jumble. I had spent years learning the rules for such interaction but their greeting had unsettled me. Was it possible that they thought I was to be pledged to Yarik?

  Another moment passed and the girl failed to arrive. The silence tortured me. Would they ask me to take a dose of the women’s medicine? Did my prince want me for a wife and mother of his children? Where was my father?

  “My apologies,” Babsi said to Gensish and bowed. “I will see what is keeping the girl.”

  Gensish excused him with a wave of his hand and a bit of my nervousness bled away as I remembered that Yarik was older than Barok. Babsi was the junior man.

  I did not speak, as the etiquette of the situation demanded, nor did Gensish speak to me.

  Babsi returned with the promised girl and Gensish pointed me to her. I followed her up while they stayed behind.

  The quick-footed girl reached the top of the stairs and led me through a noisy corridor filled with servants, pages, and tall blue-coated Hemari guardsmen. She showed me into a crowded dining room and fetched a broad tray loaded with food. I blushed as she set it before me. The room paused to look at me and I bowed. Several nodded back.

  One man said to another, “That’s Towb’s daughter.”

  “You know my father?” I asked the man.

  His brow twitched once before the tired man turned back to his meal.

  I was starving but took one more moment to enjoy the welcome gift of such a feast. I had seen such food at Dagoda. I knew every dish and recipe but had never tasted any of it. There was even a cup of mate.

  Each delicious bite lit my mouth and watered my eyes, but I began to feel embarrassed. I wasn’t eating fast enough. The girl was waiting, and everyone around me was devouring their small plates of food as fast as they could. I leaned forward a bit more than was polite and began to do the same. Some of the flavors collided but no matter. When my prince and I were wed, I could eat such things at my leisure. Soon all that remained was the cup of mate. It was still hot. I drank it down in one wonderful gulp and hurried after the girl.

  The activity in the wide corridor seemed frantic.

  “Prince Yarik earned a perfect score on the Hemari exam,” my guide said. “The celebration has already begun in the gardens. Lord Vall has given us all a half-day holiday to join in the celebration. Yarik is truly blessed by Bayen.”

  She made a turn and almost lost me, but I caught up to her as she entered another large room. It was lined with rows of desks packed with scribes mad at work with vellum and ink. Couriers and pages scurried in and out. A man snapped his fingers at me, handed me a brush, and pointed at a space on a sheet. I found my prince’s name upon it and signed where I was told. My brush work was better than his. He sniffed and made a comment about girls from Dagoda.

  I blew him a kiss and the girl pulled me along by the arm. We passed a doorway, and I stopped despite her protest. The elegant symbols above it were the same I’d found upon the sheet. Through that door was my prince’s residence.

  I almost let out a giggle. I almost opened the door.

  “Are you coming?”

  She delivered me to a long row of bunk houses. The Servants’ Quarter was its own small town, with its own walls, shops, and guards. The streets were filled with song and dance.

  All I wanted was sleep. The small bunk and pillow I was shown to did not disappoint.

  2

  Sergeant Leger Mertone

  The 75th of Autumn, 1194

  When I stepped out of the Creedal Public House I found the usual order of traffic fully dissembled into a wobbly parade of servants and craftsmen either drunk or questing to become so. I was rather proud of myself for waving off a second bottle. My uniform and overcoat were in good order, and my thirty-year service medal, sword, and coins were where they should be. I buttoned my coat against the cold and let out my breath to watch it float away. It was going to be a good night and a better morning. The dawn would see me ride south to Urmand as a member of Prince Yarik’s personal guard, and I needed to be at my best. I stood to make captain again, if I could keep myself sharp. I would hate the cold and snow, but the wine in Urmand was as red and as warm as anywhere else.

  Another Hemari, junior and doe-faced, staggered out and stumbled straight into me. I shoved him off. He spun and shoved me back. Fists went up and we were about to get to it when the clop of wooden shoes stole our attention.

  We turned to find a priest marching toward us. His round red hat, long gray beard, and black robes were those of a senior prelate, and the small book he carried was the Edict of the Renewal. My blood went cold. His beard made his expression unreadable, but his hat tipped menacingly toward us and a troop of church pikemen marched after him. We straightened and bowed low. The crowd did the same as the priest clopped by. When the sound faded, life began to return to the avenue.

  The guardsman pointed at my service medal and offered me his hand. “My apologies, Leger Mertone. I didn’t recognize you.”

  I shook it, and he made a rude gesture as he went, but not at me.

  The doors of the public house opened again and a flash of red caught my eye. It was Darmia, the capital’s most beautiful barmaid. What a distraction she was. She had the turn and grace of a dancer and her cropped, red hair had such color she was often accused of soaking it in cherries. She always denied it, but on a rare night I would catch the sweet smell as she floated by, so I knew the truth. She would wink at me those nights.

  Why leave so soon? It would be the perfect night to try to do more than talk to her. Perhaps a goodbye kiss?

  When the heavy doors closed behind me, all the noise of the cit
y disappeared, and the quiet of my sanctuary washed over me. I found my way around to my stool. Another of the city’s dwindling number of veterans had taken it but he cleared off as soon as he saw me.

  “I thought we’d lost you, old man. Can’t be a night at the Creedal without you. Can I get you a fresh bottle?”

  Haton, the Creedal’s owner, already had a bottle of my favorite red and set it and a glass between us. One of his girls was next with a bowl of hot beef and a cut of cheese. The veteran tossed a silver half-piece on the bar.

  “Haton, how many times have you seen me drink my wine from a glass?”

  “There is always a first time,” he said, took the coin, and made his way back down the bar.

  Some who visited the Creedal sat in small groups and talked of places and things. I was not one of those. The Creedal was the one place no one asked your name or where you’d served. I filled the glass for the man who’d purchased it and raised the bottle to him.

  “No, sir. I drink to you,” he said, drank it down in a single long toss, and left me to my bottle.

  It went down quick while I glanced at Darmia. I caught her eye once and she crossed with a smile.

  “When is your sister arriving?” I managed to ask.

  “A few more days at least,” she said and set both of her perfect hands upon mine.

  “Walking is she?”

  “Yes, damn her. There are ways to save a few coins but walking halfway across Zoviya is not one of them.”

  I nodded my head like a child. She put one hand upon my cheek and winked before disappearing back into the thick crowd of tall men.

  I drank more and hoped it would happen again. Time passed but it did not. I yawned a cloud of fumes and shook my head. What a fool. It was all the time she ever had for me. Her ear belonged to a dozen other regulars of far more wit and much younger years.

  I held up my empty bottle and tapped on it.

  Haton arrived. “You haven’t touched your food. Let me get you a fresh bowl.”

  I put a few thin pennies on the bar. “Are you my mother or my bartender?”

  He shrugged and traded the coins for a bottle. I liked the new one. It was a dark and heavy grape that filled my nose and wrapped my head in happiness.

  The crowd thinned and Darmia finished up for the night. When she started out, my tongue stumbled on itself. She waved, and I was the last man left. Again. Haton helped me to the door. I took my bottle with me.

  The avenue was dark and empty. I did not have far to go. I found the barracks. The knob wouldn't turn. I gave it a kick, but no one came. I rescued my tipping bottle, happily kissed it, and cursed. There wasn’t much left. I tried the door again, but it was still locked.

  “Which of you bastards locked the door?” I yelled. “Open up.”

  No one came. I wanted to sleep. I hit the door with my shoulder. It broke open and I stumbled through. The hallway was black. I tried to find the wall, but it eluded me and I fell. The bottle tumbled away, struck something, and shattered. I laughed and slapped my hand on the floor.

  It was cold and smooth. That wasn’t right. Where had I gotten myself? I heard shouting. Hemari appeared with lanterns and swords.

  “Who locked the door?” I asked one of them. “Was it you?”

  Then he kicked me.

  3

  Guardsman Geart Goib

  The blue warmth of a priest’s song woke me. My pain eased and I felt such peace. The healer’s fingers moved upon my back and pushed into the bloody hole. He withdrew them, still singing. The wound began to close, and I started to laugh.

  “That’s enough, priest. He’s a guardsman, not a Yentif prince.”

  The song and blue light died. I shivered.

  The priest was furious. “You interrupt God’s grace.”

  “We are Bayen’s grace, you worm. Get out.”

  Cold hands rolled me over. I wanted to thank the healer but lost the thought when I saw the trio with him. They were Hessier, the steel-clad elite of the Ministry, and they crowded around the small priest like wolves around a suckling pig. Each held a square lantern and the yellow light danced with the shadows upon their etched breastplates and pale faces.

  The healer was told to leave a second time, and he did.

  I blinked and tried to get my bearings. I was still in Prince Barok’s cellar. Towb’s body lay twisted on the dirt floor where I had left it. The girl had been moved, but her blood painted many crates and boxes. My prince was not there either. I smiled. I had saved him, and Towb’s days of trickery were over. I had done my duty.

  I took a deep breath and felt the sting of the wound. They had not let the healer finish. The pain was hard to hide.

  Two of them snatched me by the armpits and struggled to lift me into a chair. I smiled. I was larger than even the mighty Hessier.

  “What is your name?” he asked. His dry voice was not as deep as mine either.

  “Geart Goib, Hemari guardsman, 1st division, detached to the Deyalu—”

  He stopped me with a raised hand. “Tell me what happened here.”

  I did not know what to say. I was not permitted to speak of my prince.

  “Tell me,” he said again and used a different magic on me. It held me down and stole my warmth. Everyone knew Hessier could make mean magic, but the sensation was terrible.

  But the blue touch of Bayen was still inside me. I hugged the tiny ball of God’s light and ignored the Hessier’s icy grip.

  Another one of them punched my wound. I screamed and wanted to stand, to choke the one who had done it, but the magic kept me down.

  What am I to them? Why do they care about me?

  The first spoke again. “Tell us, and I will bring back the healer—let him finish. You would like that, yes?”

  I nodded, and his magic faded.

  They don’t care about you, stupid. They are after Barok.

  I faked a coughing fit and accepted a drink of water. I needed to be smart like my prince. I could not say that Barok had been there. I would not betray him like Towb had. I spoke slowly and tried to be smart with my words.

  “My day started before the evening meal. I did drills with the rest of the night guards and—”

  “Skip to when you abandoned your post in Prince Barok’s residence.”

  “I did not abandon my post. Barok’s groomsman, Towb Esar came up from the servants’ corridor with orders for me to fetch a girl from the crowd.”

  “Where was your prince?”

  “He was asleep. The exams had exhausted him.”

  He didn’t believe my lie. “Asleep? The exams were two days ago, and the gardens below his window were packed with every royal and noble who could make it in time for the celebration. Why wouldn’t the Prince want to join them?”

  “He could not. Prince Yarik did not invite him.”

  “Barok was angry about that, yes?”

  “Not at all,” I said and almost choked on the lie. “He was very proud of his brother’s perfect score on the exam. Proud of his own high marks, too. He was tired is all. He’d studied all year.”

  “So Barok had you summon this girl?”

  “No. Towb did. He pointed her out, I went down, and Towb was waiting for us in the alley between Prince Yarik and Prince Barok’s residences. He had a key to the cellar and we came in here. Then he offered the girl a purse of coins if she would sign a confession.”

  “What had she and Barok done?”

  “Not Barok, Yarik. He and the girl had married in secret.”

  He did not react as I had expected to news of Yarik’s crime. His eyes narrowed. “Do not turn the topic again, guardsman. When did Barok first tell you that he wanted to murder the girl?”

  “But it’s true. The wedding bracelet she wore—Yarik paid the jeweler, and there was a ceremony—”

  The lantern light faded and black ice gripped my limbs and throat.

  “Enough. You lured the girl here. Towb tried to save her, but you murdered him and Prince Barok murdere
d the girl. Confess it.”

  His terrible magic made me want to say it, but I held onto the memory of God’s light and focused on the truth.

  “No. Towb stabbed me in the back and cut the girl’s throat. I caught him before he could escape.”

  My hands and face warmed as I remembered squeezing the terrible little man. He’d cracked and wheezed like a squashed frog.

  The Hessier crowded close. Then I felt pain.

  4

  Sergeant Leger Mertone

  The Next Morning

  Something thumped me. The beat of blood through my skull was liquid pain, but a sudden commotion roused me. My bleary eyes came open, and I rolled over. I was lying on the floor of a prison cell. Three Hemari dragged another man in, dropped him beside me, and filed back out.

  I knew the place from its smell. I was in the dungeon beneath the palace. I found dried blood in my nose and a cut above my eye. My sword, overcoat, and coins were missing. Someone had pinned my thirty-year medal to my tunica.

  I was supposed to be on the way to Urmand but it seemed that I had messed that up, too. Rot. I had gotten turned around in my search for the barracks and had broken into the palace.

  There was a rope waiting for me this time.

  I scoffed. Hanging was as good an ending as Bessradi was likely to offer me—the old whore. I would not miss her, though she was the closest I’d come to a mother.