The Knight, the Harp, and the Maiden

by Anne Kelleher Bush

  Heavy footfalls were coming down the corridor. Neri rose and stood in the doorway. A black-robed figure thrust a pitcher and a tray into her hands. The figure said nothing, just continued on its way.

  Neri brought the tray back into the room and set it down on a low rickety table that rocked alarmingly at the weight. “Dinner.” She smiled wryly.

  Juilene got up. On a rough wooden tray lay a loaf of course bread. The pitcher was full of acrid wine, scarcely the stuff her father had allowed the servants to drink. She turned to see Neri pulling a ragged cloth from a chest near the bed. “This is all he gives you to eat?”

  Neri nodded. “There’s a loaf for all of us, and then gruel in the morning—that’s all.”

  Juilene twisted her mouth. Had she expected anything more?

  “Don’t fret, child. We’ve enough. Though I doubt it’s enough for the poor lady with child—the lady from Gravenhage. Truly, he’s left us alone for the last weeks and things are better.”

  “Better?” Juilene rounded on Neri. “You call this better because he ignores you all? Leaves you to starve, I would say. Take me to Father, now, Neri. I want to see what’s been done to him. And then you must tell me what you can of the lady from Gravenhage—where is she?”

  The old woman pursed her lips. “She’s in the tower opposite. On sunny days I see her walking on the battlements. I fear the bread and gruel is not enough for her.” Neri’s voice trailed off.

  “I want to see Father.”

  “Very well,” Neri said at last.

  She beckoned Juilene down the short corridor, and in the doorway of another room, she paused. Eliane was sitting by a narrow bed. She looked up when she heard their footsteps, and a frown wrinkled her brow. “He’s sleeping.”

  Juilene tiptoed closer. “I’ll not wake him.” She leaned over her father, and could scarcely conceal her gasp of disbelief. Could this wasted shell of a man truly be her father? This man’s body looked caved in, somehow, as though the muscles and the sinews had collapsed upon themselves. His hair had been hacked off close about his head, and his mouth was slack, his nose thin and pinched. A thin line of spittle stained his cheek. She swallowed her tears and backed away.

  She heard Eliane’s snort of derision, and Neri’s soft admonishment. Then she was back in Neri’s room, her head buried in her hands. She had thought that if she left, no harm would come to the people she loved. Indeed, it seemed that they had suffered more than she. She pressed her fists against her eyes, forbidding herself to cry. Where was Cariad? she wondered. What had happened to him and to Galanthir? Had the ruse worked? Did Lindos believe that they were emissaries from King Mark?

  It was a dangerous, deceitful game they were playing, and Juilene rose and paced to the window. Below her, lights flickered fitfully. Nothing else moved upon the walls, and no living person could be seen. She saw movement out of the corner of her eye, and she turned, her skirts swirling. Nothing. She remembered what Galanthir had said about the thurge sprites, and she shuddered.

  Neri came in, softly closing the door behind her. “Eat, child. You’ll feel better if you do.”

  Juilene sank down onto a low stool, the only chair the room offered. “I thought you’d all be safe if I left, Nenny. I thought you wouldn’t suffer.”

  “Child, this isn’t your fault. How many times do you need to hear it? Your father opposed Lindos—he would have done that whether you were here to see it or not. Do you think he would have listened to you?”

  “No.” She reached for the hunk of bread that Neri offered. It was stale and dry and tasted like ashes in her mouth. She looked around the room. Her harp, she realized with a start. What had happened to her harp? It had been in the cart. But where was it now?

  She opened her mouth to ask Neri about the harp when a knock sounded on the door. Neri looked frightened. Juilene got to her feet “I’ll open it.” She jerked open the door. A thurge stood silently. “What do you want?”

  “The Lord Lindos commands your presence.” The man eyed her with speculative interest, and Juilene tossed her hair over her shoulder. She was no untried girl. She stared back at the man, bold as she could, and he smiled, his uneven yellow teeth gleaming in the dim light. “Oh, you won’t look so brazen when Lord Lindos sees to you, lady. Not so brazen at all.”

  Juilene said nothing, but refused to let her eyes drop. “Take me to him”—she hesitated the fraction of an instant—“minion.”

  Behind her she could hear Neri’s soft chuckle all the way down the winding stairs.

  Her father’s audience room just off the hall was exactly as she remembered it. A lump rose in her throat, and she had to suppress a sigh as she followed the thurge through the great keep. It all looked the same as she remembered it, the very same, but the atmosphere was nothing like she remembered at all.

  Now shadows seemed to gather and pool on the perimeters of the rooms and on the stairs, and she constantly detected movement on the periphery of her vision. She only prayed that the rest of the plan would work. She had heard them discussing it, Cariad and Galanthir. The King had begun to move his troops across the frozen landscape, even while the thurges and the demi-thurges under Deatrice set up the spells that hopefully would launch an attack long before Lindos was aware that any army stood within striking distance. Her skirts made a heavy whisper across the dusty floor.

  The thurge stood aside and allowed her to pass in front of him, and then closed the door behind her. She heard the turn of a key in the lock. She blinked. The light of a hundred candles or more illuminated the room.

  “So, my dear Lady Juilene, welcome home.” His voice was the same sibilant whisper that made her flesh crawl.

  She raised her face but said nothing.

  “Well, well. I see you’ve changed. What brings you here?”

  “Did you think you would keep me away from my house and my family forever?”

  He smiled, bitter and cruel. “Do you take me for a fool, Lady Juilene?” He gave her title a subtle emphasis.

  She shifted on her feet, uncertain of his meaning. “I think you’re the cruelest man alive.”

  “But you came back.” He raked her with his cold eyes. “Did you think you and your newest knight would stop me?”

  A knife twisted in her heart, but she gripped the fabric of her gown and vowed he wouldn’t see her fear. “We come as emissaries of King Mark. To find out the welfare of the Lady Amanda, whom he has heard is with child.”

  He laughed. “Emissaries of King Mark. You are amusing, my dear. Well, since the welfare of the Lady Amanda concerns you so, allow me to reassure you.”

  He opened the door and spoke in low words. Juilene heard a murmured assent. Lindos turned back to her with a sardonic smile. “Please, my lady. Sit.”

  She sank down, holding her back as straight as possible, keeping her shoulders squared. A long moment passed and then she heard the patter of slippered feet and the tramp of boots. The door was flung wide, and a woman stood just outside the threshold. Lindos smiled. “Come in, my dear. You have a guest.”

  Juilene looked up. The woman’s face was thin and pale, and beneath her dark eyes, her bloodless cheeks were smudged with deep circles. Her chilblained hands rested on the round swell of her huge belly, a belly grotesquely out of all proportion to the rest of her stick-thin body. She glanced past Lindos to Juilene, and an unspoken question was clear on her face.

  “Allow me to present the Lady Amanda of Gravenhage, my dear.” Lindos reached out and touched the lady’s face caressingly, and she dodged his hand with a little cry of disgust. “Lady Amanda, the Lady Juilene. You’ve heard of her, I’m sure.”

  Amanda’s eyes grew wide, and Juilene rose to her feet. “The King of Gravenhage, my lady, is most concerned for your welfare. Neither he nor your husband has forgotten you—they bid you keep a high heart.”

  Amanda drew a deep breath, closed her eyes, and opened them. “Thank you, my lady. You are most kind.” She avoided looking at Lindos.

  “Are
you well?” Juilene thought the lady looked anything but well. No wonder what Cariad said would happen would come to pass. The lady looked as though she would hardly survive the walk back to the tower.

  “I am well, enough. You may assure my husband, and my king, that I have not lost my faith in either.” Her eyes blazed in her thin face, and there might have only been the two of them in the room.

  “Oh,” said Lindos, “I doubt the Lady Juilene will be in much of a position to do that—though I might allow the demi-thurge she brought with her to go back—”

  “Demi-thurge?” Amanda looked at Lindos for the first time since entering.

  “Your brother-in-law, Galanthir,” answered Juilene before Lindos could speak. She wondered desperately if there were some way to get Galanthir to see Amanda. “He came himself.”

  “He’s here?” Amanda whispered.

  Lindos smiled. “For all the good it will do you, my lady, yes. He’s here.” He snapped his fingers. “Take her back.”

  Amanda pressed her lips together. “Tell him—tell him I am well, my lady. Tell him I have not forgotten my promises—please, lady?”

  “Of course,” answered Juilene as the door slammed shut.

  “So,” said Lindos. “You’ve seen her. And now what do you propose to do?” He sat down, leaned back in his chair, and raised one eyebrow. “Well?”

  “Anything I can to stop you.”

  His expression did not change. “And how do you intend to do that?”

  She only smiled.

  At once he was on his feet, looming over her. “Don’t try and play games with me, little songsayer. Whatever you think you might have planned—think again. You can only fail.” He touched her cheek in the same caressing manner he had Amanda’s and Juilene shrank back immediately. He smiled at her reaction. “Oh, not to worry, my dear. When I’m ready to take you, you’ll thank the goddess the worst is over.” He twined his fingers in her thick curls, and yanked her face closer to his. A knock on the door made him release her. “Well?” he barked without turning around.

  The door swung open and a soldier stumbled inside, his eyebrows and beard covered in icy condensation. His boots were caked in snow. “Lord—” he began, his voice hoarse.

  “Well?”

  “There’ve been reports of movement along the River Arvon. It seems an army is moving into the area, through the southern foothills.”

  At once Lindos released Juilene and rounded on the soldier. “How many?”

  “That’s difficult to say, lord,” answered the soldier with a hint of sullenness in his voice. “The snow—the ice—the cold—all make it hard for our scouts.”

  “Where are they?”

  “Being revived,” the man answered. “There are only two who made it back, and they’re half-frozen. The physicians are with them now.”

  “Bring them to me as soon as they are able to stand.”

  “Yes, my lord.” The soldier bowed curtly and was gone.

  Lindos looked back at Juilene with narrowed eyes. “You know something about this, don’t you? It’s no accident you came now, is it? Emissaries of King Mark, indeed. Have you ever in your life laid eyes on the man?” His mouth twisted. “Little fool. Come with me. Allow me to show you your precious knight.” He snapped his fingers and the door opened. He yanked her out of the room.

  Down the darkened corridor, he strode, Juilene hurrying at his heels. His hand was like an iron clamp on her wrist, and he tugged her arm so viciously she thought it would break from her socket. They came to the stairs that led to the cellars below the castle and he started down, Juilene tripping behind him. Torches flared on the dank walls, and the chill that pervaded the air cut her to the bone.

  They passed the kitchen levels and continued on, down to levels Juilene had never explored in all the years she had lived in Sarrasin. Her ankle twisted as they reached the bottom and he jerked her upright. She stifled her cry by biting down on her lip so hard she tasted blood.

  He looked down at her with a sneer. “That’s nothing compared to what you’ll feel when I have my way with you,” he whispered.

  She straightened up and pulled her shoulders square. She would never give this wretch the satisfaction of her pain, never. She stared at him with all the hatred she could muster.

  He only laughed and jerked her forward. Water dripped from the ceiling and leaked down the walls. The stones beneath their feet were uneven and covered here and there with mold and lichenous growth. Rot pervaded the air, and offal, and something worse, something sickly sweet that made her gag every time a whiff of whatever it was reached her nostrils.

  Finally they paused before a heavy iron door. A black-robed thurge stood before it. He nodded to his master.

  Lindos ignored him and walked in. Juilene gasped. Cariad and Galanthir hung in chains, naked but for breechclouts. Deep welts and bruises marred the whiteness of their skins, and blood oozed from deep wounds. Juilene bit her lip to keep from crying out. Cariad raised his head at the sound of Lindos’s voice, and when he saw Juilene, he closed his eyes.

  Lindos picked up a whip. “You thought to fool me, boy? I want to know the plot you’re a part of—the name of the thurge who put you up to this—do you hear me? The name!” He cracked the whip. The long tail licked out, curled around Cariad’s legs, and left a bloody trail in its trace.

  “No!” Juilene cried. “No—please. Leave him alone—let him go. It was all my idea. Please.”

  Lindos turned to her, caressing the whip in his hand. “Do you think I believe that? There’s the stink of a thurge all over him—and I want to know who it is that dares to challenge me.” He turned once more and this time the leather lash snaked out and around and fell on both men. They twisted in their bonds, and Galanthir moaned.

  “This is nothing,” Lindos whispered, gripping her and forcing her to look at them. “Have you ever seen magic ripped off of someone? It’s a painful process, trust me, and there are ways to make it even more so. But I might keep them around a few days more—because to tell you the truth, I’m enjoying it. And the sight of you, my dear, watching, is even more pleasure than I could imagine.”

  “Let me speak to him,” she begged. “Let me talk to them.”

  Lindos raised his eyebrow. “What for? Talk sense into them? And spoil my fun?” He drew the handle of the whip down her cheek. “Well. I suppose there’re all kinds of pleasure.”

  He walked out and shut the door. Juilene turned and looked at Cariad. “By the goddess,” she whispered. “Can this be true?”

  “Lady,” whispered Galanthir. “There might be yet a way.”

  She drew closer, wishing she had water, salve, anything, to lessen their pain. “Listen to him, Juilene,” croaked Cariad.

  “He doesn’t know—he cannot see—who Cariad is. He can sense the magic—he sees the spell but vaguely and it drives him mad. I think there’s a way—for me to use my magic—to cut his bonds—but Lindos must be in the room. And you must not be—do you understand? I can’t guarantee a great deal of control—” Galanthir swallowed hard.

  “When will you do this?”

  “We must do it soon,” Cariad said, raising his eyes. “I am not sure how much more of this I can stand.”

  “But how will you kill him?” Juilene asked.

  “Don’t worry, Juilene. Just get him in here alone—and get yourself out.”

  The door opened and slammed shut. A dark-robed thurge stood just inside. “Time’s up.”

  “They—these gentlemen want your master.”

  “Master’s gone to his bed.” The thurge leered at her.

  “Then get him back,” Juilene spat. Behind her, she heard Galanthir and Cariad stir in their chains. It had to be soon, she knew, before infection set in and made their wounds suppurate, and fever or worse struck them. What if they became like her father. Juilene stared the thurge in the eye, and something must have made the man back down, for he turned and left the cell.

  “Good luck,” she whispered to the
m both. She stood on tiptoe and pressed a gentle kiss to Cariad’s mouth. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Juilene.”

  Measured steps sounded in the doorway. “Touching little love scene.” Lindos laughing low in his throat. “Well?”

  “They say they’ll talk.” Juilene made as if to brush past him, but he caught her by the arm.

  Galanthir met her eyes, and Juilene gave a quick nod. Whatever he would do, he should do, without care or worry for her.

  “I am the son of the Queen of Gravenhage,” said Cariad, his voice rough and harsh in his throat.

  Lindos laughed. “The Queen? She’s no older than you are—tell me something that’s true.”

  “Use your thurge-sight,” goaded Juilene. “You’ll see it’s true.”

  Lindos shot her a look but she met his eyes fearlessly. She was tired of being afraid. If they were all to die in this miserable dungeon beneath her father’s keep, so be it. Better to die trying to stop Lindos than to live knowing they had failed.

  He pushed her away and she fell, stumbling back to the door. Lindos shut his eyes, and in that moment, she saw Galanthir’s lips move. A powerful ball of fire erupted right over Cariad’s head, and the chains melted. He dropped to the floor, the metal flowing off his skin like heavy syrup, with no more thought than if it had been drops of water. He rose in a half crouch.

  Lindos raised his head and gazed at Cariad, and his face blanched whiter than the snow that lay so thick outside. “You!”

  Cariad advanced. “Yes. I’m the one you were so certain would never come. I am the non-born knight.”

  Lindos wet his lips and backed away, his mouth working in the silent words of a spell. The air shimmered and sprites materialized out of every corner, crowding and crawling all over the walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Juilene shrieked as the misshapen monsters moved near her, but she saw they were converging on Cariad. Or they were trying to, for it seemed that though they tried to reach him, to touch him, their grabbing claws slid off him as easily as the molten metal had. He straightened to his full height, and grabbed for Lindos.