by E. V. Greig
Naomi stepped in front of the witchfinder. “Whatever you need to speak of, you may say in front of me. Or have you adopted this world’s customs so very readily?”
“Go to your room please, Naomi. This is a matter of honour. You have been hurt too much as it is. I will be certain of this man’s intentions before I permit you to dally any further with him!”
Misericord inclined his head. “It is only proper that I precede no further in my pursuit of you without permission, my Lady.”
“Remind me to teach you to lie, and you to mind your own business!” Naomi glowered at both men. She stalked off back to her chamber and slammed the door behind her. They heard the bolt slide home.
Ranulf led the way into his study. “Close the door please, Misericord, and do sit down.” He poured out two measures of brandy. “Do you drink?”
“Rarely, Lord Von Rosenhof. Only upon official occasions.”
“Good to hear it!” The nobleman gulped back both drinks. “Right then – to business! Your intentions towards my niece: what are they, sir?”
“Whatever my Lady likes them to be, Lord Von Rosenhof.”
“Do not avoid the question, sir!” Ranulf’s eyes flashed angrily. “After that cur Bandhir, I shall not permit her to be misused again! Do you understand?”
The witchfinder nodded, and shifted slightly in his seat. “My pursuit of the Lady is pure, I promise you.”
Ranulf blinked. “Wait a moment – you are trying to find words that match up! What sort of game do you play, sir?”
“Linking my letters lends me leverage over my muddled mind, Lord Von Rosenhof. I have encountered evils that would weaken the wits of the strongest soul.”
“I see. Very well then: I shall make allowances for that. Now then: tell me about yourself, Misericord.”
“Such secrets are not to be shared, Lord Von Rosenhof.”
“Do you give my niece such trouble whenever she asks you a question?”
“I am of course completely candid with the Lady.”
“Now see here, Misericord!” Ranulf slammed his fist down upon the table. “I shall be very plain with you: if you hurt my niece, I shall hurt you far worse!”
“Agreed,” the witchfinder nodded. “But I must make it clear: I hail from a much lesser lineage than does the Lady. I am but the seventh son, of a seventh son, who was himself also a seventh son.”
“Well, unless you plan to marry her for her money that will not be an issue.”
“To serve such sheer serendipity is payment plenty for this poor soul, Lord Von Rosenhof.”
“Oh, just go and pay court to her, drat you!” Ranulf grumbled. “Why do I even bother trying to intervene in her business? She never appreciates it, and I always end up with a damned headache!”
Chapter Eight
Misericord let himself into the Lady’s chamber by his usual route: the passageway behind her bookcase. He remained in the shadows: silently observing her as she stabbed angrily at her needlepoint. “I know perfectly well that you’re there, witchfinder: you may as well come out!”
He padded into view. “Alas, I fear I have irked you, my Lady.”
“I don’t require my uncle’s permission to take a lover, you know.”
“I did not ask it, my Lady.”
Naomi flung down her sampler and turned to glare at him. “Then why in all of the worlds did you go and discuss it with him?”
“I perceived that it was proper to do so, my Lady.”
“Give me one good reason not to send you away from me, Misericord.”
“You shall soon have to do so anyhow, my Lady. Kaiwan is yet to be located.”
“She has more than a month’s head start now too. I may end up resorting to bounty hunters!” The Mistress of Briersburge shook her head. “I’m not about to risk sending you again, Misericord. Ravin has already targeted you once in order to reach me. He would do so again, I am sure, and it is clear that he can reach this region with ease when he so chooses.”
“Then my Lady would not wish for me to wander?”
“Always the clever one, aren’t you, witchfinder? No, I should prefer to keep you close to me.”
He took a careful step towards her: tilting his head to the left ever so slightly. “How close would my Lady like me to keep?”
“I suspect that you will be safest within the walls of Briersburge. But now it is late, Misericord, and frankly I’m tired. Leave me be to sleep, please. We’ll talk again in the morning.”
“As my Lady likes it.” Misericord bowed and melted back into the shadows by the bookcase.
Naomi listened for the sound of the passageway closing behind him. Then she buried her face in her hands. “Why do they always do this?”
Spellsnitcher ambled out from underneath her bed and hopped onto her lap. He purred and swatted at her cheek with his claws. “Cousin, shalt I slay the witchfinder for you?”
“No, dear Spellsnitcher, I don’t want him dead! I just hate being treated like some simpering damsel.”
“But cousin: damsels art vicious and cunning creatures!” Spellsnitcher rolled over to have his belly tickled. “Why wouldst thou not wish to be as one of their ilk?”
“You always know exactly when to miss the point completely, don’t you?” Naomi smiled at the cat fondly.
“It is truly a fine quality of mine.”
∞∞∞
Elharan frowned at the great red hound as it paced the length of its kennel. The shaggy beast was panting and whining. It snarled at anyone that approached the kennel. “I reckon that dog to be sick, Heideir.”
“Lady Naomi won’t like to hear that! I was surprised that she left him penned up when she got back.”
“He wouldn’t go near her: growled at her when she reached towards him.”
Gyrfalcon shook his head. “That’s a swift change! Sounds like the mad fever to me, Elharan.”
“Aye, but if it is, then we’ll have to shoot him, and burn the corpse. Gods, I don’t want to have to break that to her! She’s just about back in one piece again as it is.”
“Well, there’s a healer on her way to look now anyhow. She’ll know what to do.”
Tik-Tik chirped. “Big dumb pirate better not squash this one too!”
“Quiet you!” Gyrfalcon flicked the squirrel-cat off his shoulder and into a puddle. “Ah, this’ll be she then!” He grinned at the healer. “Morning, darling – hope you like dogs!”
The healer bustled past him and peered into the kennel. “That animal isn’t well at all. I’d best make a quick divination to be sure of the cause.” She moved her hands in a series of complex gestures. Then she gasped. “Why, ‘tis sorcery to blame! Captain Elharan – this is no dog! This is a man that has been transformed into a beast!”
Elharan was sceptical. “Can we get a second opinion on this – hey now! What are you doing?” He grabbed for her arm but she had already opened the kennel gate and ducked inside it. “Damn it woman, get out of there before you’re bitten!”
“Don’t worry, sir: I’m dispelling the curse as we speak!”
The animal howled then, and there was a flash of white light. A tall, broad figure rose slowly into view. He growled. “Where is my wife?”
∞∞∞
The first cock had crowed, and Misericord was already on his way back to the Lady’s chamber for their agreed audience. He passed Elharan upon his way: heading to have the healers examine the great hound. Misericord recalled that he had intended to speak to the Lady of his concerns regarding the creature. Likely that will have to lie until later yet.
The witchfinder stepped silently into Naomi’s chamber once again and moved to stand beside her bed. The Lady rolled over and opened her eyes: her hand releasing its grip upon the pistol beneath her pillow. “What’s this – no breakfast in bed for me then?”
“Forgive me, my Lady: I had not reckoned upon your requiring it.”
“Well, in future, you’ll know.” She smiled and patted the blankets for him to j
oin her. “I like to start my day with a cup of chamomile tea and a slice of gingerbread.”
“What size of slice, and which colour of cup, my Lady? I shall repair to the refectory immediately to requisition the required items!”
“The next time will suffice, thank you, Misericord. Now please: our discussion.”
He perched on the very edge of her bed. “The one which the little lad most irksomely interrupted?”
“Indeed. Where were we?”
“On the furs before your fireplace, my Lady.” The witchfinder drew back the blankets inch by inch.
“Well, now we’re in my bed, Misericord.”
“We may yet move again, my Lady.”
“You’re incorrigible, witchfinder.” Naomi laid the pistol carefully aside as he finally lay down next to her. “You really ought to remove your armour first though!”
“I had reckoned to remain ready to protect your person, my Lady.”
“Well in that case, I can make an exception, I suppose.”
He toyed with her hair. “Perchance why place a pistol beneath your pillow, my Lady?”
“I’ve been rudely awoken in the past, Misericord. Elharan gave it to me: just in case.”
“He feels that I might fail?”
“It was before I met you.” Her voice grew sad. “I was very different then: vulnerable, even somewhat weak in a way.”
He heard her hound howling in its kennel. “So we both have our scars.”
“Indeed we do.” She reached up and gently removed his mask. “And the ones inside are worst of all, aren’t they, dear Misericord?”
He pulled her close and kissed her. “It is impossible to heal the unseen injury, my Lady.”
“Nothing’s impossible: merely not yet done.”
“Naomi, you whore!” A deep and impossibly familiar voice echoed up from the courtyard. “Where are you, wife? Why don’t you come to your husband?”
They both sat bolt upright at his words. Naomi scrambled to her feet and ran to her balcony to look. “Skegyl – but how is this possible? You died! You were lost at sea, back upon Alnaiea, three years hence: and that world is gone now!”
The hulking barbarian glared up at her from where he stood: stark naked, in the courtyard. He appeared to be attempting to strangle both Elharan and Gyrfalcon simultaneously. “Bandhir lied to you, wife! He cursed me to become that dog that he gave to you – and then he supplanted me! No sooner is he driven out, than you are throwing yourself at that skinny witchfinder! I always guessed you to have a liking for him – well, he shan’t have you, none of them shall, do you hear me? You’re mine – you’ll always be mine!”
“Skegyl let them go – you’ll kill them!”
“I fully intend to! The old one never did like me, did he?” Skegyl growled again, his mane of dark red hair drenched with sweat and his amber eyes hard with fury. “Kennel me, would you?” He hurled Gyrfalcon aside to tear off the collar still fastened about his neck. His other hand continued to choke Elharan.
“Fuck...you...sir...!” Elharan drew his pistol and shot Skegyl in the guts. The barbarian collapsed and dropped him. The aged guardsman crawled away, gasping for breath and hoping that Skegyl would stay down.
Naomi made to leap over the edge of her balcony; cursing as Misericord caught her. “Let me go! I must stop this!”
“Keep her well clear of this mess, witchfinder!” Gyrfalcon gesticulated. “We can manage him!”
“Manage this!” Skegyl leapt to his feet again: scarcely even bruised from the shot, and punched the lanky par’dath hard in the jaw. Gyrfalcon staggered clean across the courtyard. He slammed headfirst into the wall of the main tower and collapsed senseless to the ground.
Naomi screamed. “Heideir!”
Tik-Tik scuttled out from beneath the pirate and launched himself at Skegyl’s throat. The barbarian grabbed the tiny creature mid leap and clenched his fist around him. The little squirrel-cat went limp.
“Tik-Tik!” This time, Naomi elbowed Misericord in the neck and sprang over the edge of her balcony before he could recover. Dressed only in her nightgown – a flimsy, silken affair – she scrambled down the trellis and landed in the flowerbed below. “Skegyl, stop this madness now!”
“My Lady!” Misericord landed beside her: his mask properly in place once more and his daggers drawn.
Skegyl took one look at the witchfinder and went utterly berserk. Hurling the squirrel-cat aside, he barrelled into Misericord, grabbed hold of him with both hands, and proceeded to head butt him repeatedly. His eyes blazed, and he was frothing insensibly at the mouth. Naomi darted behind him and kicked him sharply in the testicles. He roared and dropped Misericord, who lay utterly still. Turning in a slow, angry circle, Skegyl grabbed his wife by her hair and lifted her clean off the ground.
She yelped and grabbed fruitlessly at his hand. “Husband, no!” He was shifting before her eyes: not into the hound, but into his own other form. “Skegyl, please don’t do this!” By now, he was halfway changed. Chestnut fur sprouted from his body, his teeth were lengthening into cruel fangs.
“Bloody bastard lycarne!” Elharan fired again, this time catching Skegyl in the small of his back. “And me with no silver shot ready!”
Skegyl growled and clawed Naomi across the face. She screamed again, and he dropped her. Spinning around, he sprang towards Elharan: now fully shifted into his hybrid state. Elharan squeezed off another shot and threw himself aside. The enraged berserker prince howled and scrabbled after him.
“Cousin!” Spellsnitcher was there then: in his true shape. Elharan sighed with relief as whatever the cat really was sprang into action. “Berserk fool! Thou darest to manhandle mine kin?” The pallid creature seized hold of Skegyl and hurled him bodily out over the battlements. “See to mine cousin and the others, guardsman!” Spellsnitcher leapt up the wall and went in pursuit of the lycarne.
Elharan limped over to Naomi and helped her to sit up. “Go easy now, Spellsnitcher is dealing with him! Bloody hellfire but he’s made a mess of your face – can you heal naturally from a lycarne attack?”
“Immortal, remember?” She was already looking towards the rest of her retinue. “Oh Gods, Elharan – are they dead?”
He glanced at where the healer was tending to Gyrfalcon. “Heideir’s been through worse.” Indeed, the par’dath was already trying to stand up. “And Misericord seems to be regaining his wits.” The witchfinder had rolled over and was shaking his head slowly. “Not sure about the squirrel-cat though.”
“Tik-Tik!” Naomi ran over to where the tiny creature lay curled up. “Elharan, he’s dead!” Dropping to her knees, she scooped him up and cradled his still form against her chest.
Elharan knelt beside her and hugged her to him. “He’s with his Great Frog Spirit now.” He stroked her hair and let her cry into his shoulder, vaguely aware of Misericord and Gyrfalcon joining them.
“Give him here, will you?” Gyrfalcon snatched Tik-Tik away from Naomi and cupped his huge hands around him. “Silly little squirrel-cat: you can’t be dead! Who’s going to watch over me for the great Frog Spirit if you go, eh? Now stop scaring her Ladyship!”
“Big dumb pirate ruin Tik-Tik’s shot at seeing down nightdress!” Tik-Tik shook himself and hopped up onto Gyrfalcon’s shoulder. “Where big dumb dogman go?”
“The cat threw him out.” Elharan decided that wondering when precisely in his life this sort of thing had become completely normal for a day’s work was inviting madness.
Naomi leant against him. “I can’t believe he’s alive. I’m sorry, all of you: I never meant to endanger you!”
Gyrfalcon snorted. “Weren’t your fault, your Ladyship! But what’s all this about you and Misericord then?”
“Aye, is there something we need to know about, Naomi?”
The two men were both grinning at her now. Tik-Tik was swinging from Gyrfalcon’s left earlobe. “Tik-Tik bet witchfinder gets to see down nightdress!”
Misericord stepped forward th
en and wrapped Naomi in his cloak. “This is indeed improper. You must not mock our mistress, my merry mates.”
“What the deuce is happening?” Ranulf came hurrying out of the main tower together with a unit of swordsmen. “Naomi! Why my poor niece: who did this to you?” He examined her face. “These are claw marks!”
“Uncle, Skegyl is alive! He was ensorcelled: trapped in the form of a dog – the same dog that Efrym gave to me. Somehow he was freed from the spell, and he went berserk and attacked us.”
Elharan cleared his throat at that. “Actually, he attacked us in a regular manner, spotted Misericord, and then went berserk and attacked us some more, milord. Spellsnitcher ran him off, thankfully, and just in time.”
Ranulf was stunned. “Skegyl is alive? Why, that mystical fountain that he once bathed in must have been even more potent than we thought!” Then his face darkened. “He attacked you, Naomi?”
She nodded miserably. “He was not in control of himself, Uncle. He felt that I had betrayed him.”
Ranulf was incensed. “He was the one who chose to leave you and go off adventuring, dear niece! He had no need to go: he was already wealthy, and had certainly sown enough wild oats before the two of you ever met! I shall have his balls for soup!”
“Uncle...!”
“No, Naomi: I shall say my piece on this! Skegyl and I went adventuring together many times. Whilst I settled down, he never could. Then he met you. You had been lost to our family for years and were serving in the city guard of the capitol at the time. Skegyl reunited us, and to be frank that is why I granted him my blessing to court you further. I thought that he would put his wild days behind him. Certainly, I would never have agreed to him marrying you had I known that he intended to keep on adventuring. As for this savage treatment – I have not the words!”