Lord Of Danger

by Stuart, Anne

  It was a face in the undergrowth. A face she knew and loved. For a moment she thought she was dreaming again, that her hopeless wishes had conjured up the beautiful face of her sister.

  Alys cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, but Madlen had wandered farther still, out of earshot but not out of sight, and Alys had no doubt she would move fast enough if her charge ecided to make a run for it. She wasn’t a heartless woman, but she had her own well-being to consider, and her loyalty to her mistress had been easily abandoned. Alys turned back, wondering if Claire’s face would have disappeared once more, but she was still there.

  “We’re going to rescue you,” she whispered, the sound barely traveling across the burbling stream.

  “We?”

  “Thomas is here as well.”

  “Run away,” Alys said desperately. “Don’t risk your own safety. I’ll be fine—Richard wouldn’t really hurt me.”

  “He’ll kill you,” Claire said flatly. “And we both know it. They have some grand plan to release you but they’re not telling me.” She sounded aggrieved. “Just be ready to flee as soon as you’re given a sign.”

  “Who… ?”

  But Claire had already faded into the woods, and Madlen stood over Alys, looking stern.

  “Who were you talking to, my lady?” she demanded, peering past her into the seemingly uninhabited woods.

  “My reflection.”

  Madlen’s response was a grim snort. “That’s about the only help you’re going to get,” she said. “Come along, my lady. We’ve a long day ahead of us, and I’m hoping to enjoy myself.”

  “Enjoy yourself?”

  “There’s a market fair in the next town. Gervaise says we’re to travel right through it on our way to Middleham. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a market fair.”

  “Won’t it be difficult to carry my cage through the town?” Alys suggested in a purely practical voice. “What if I screamed for help?”

  “No one would listen,” Madlen said flatly, and Alys knew that was the truth of it. “I imagine the monster has some sort of plan for you. Maybe he’ll cast a spell over you to keep you silent.”

  He could do that, Alys thought. He could make her do anything he wanted her to.

  “I’ll behave myself.”

  “I would expect you’d be wise enough to do so, my lady,” Madlen said, leading the way back to the clearing, back to her cage.

  It was only as she settled once more against the fur coverlets that she remembered Claire’s disgruntled words. “They have a plan and they’re not telling me,” she said. Who could “they” be?

  Sir Thomas, of course. And she knew without question who else would be working toward her rescue. The bleak, unloving creature who was her husband.

  “What do you have to smile at, my lady?” Madlen asked curiously as she locked the bars with a heavy chain.

  “It’s a beautiful day,” Alys said, “and we’re going to a fair.”

  Madlen threw a doubtful look at the overcast sky. “You won’t be enjoying the fair, Lady Alys,” she said.

  “Oh, even in my cage I’m planning to enjoy it tremendously,” she said sweetly.

  And Madlen waddled off, shaking her head at her mistress’s lack of wits.

  It required perfect timing. It required a far greater element of luck than Simon of Navarre preferred to count on. It required Richard the Fair to play his part, true to his nature, and it required Alys’s trust, her selfish sister’s willingness to follow orders, and God’s will.

  In all, there were just too many unlikely variables to depend on any chance of success.

  But there was no alternative. By tomorrow they would reach Middleham Castle, and the path from then on was set. The child would die, most likely followed by Alys and Simon. He expected it would take Richard less than a year to get himself named king—the others who stood closer to the throne were as easily disposed of as a twelve-year-old monarch.

  He could count on Claire’s love for her sister. He could count on bravery from Sir Thomas du Rhaymer and Alys. He could even count on Richard’s vanity to put the plan into motion.

  But what he couldn’t depend on was God’s mercy.

  He was more than willing to make a bargain with God. His quiet little wife was entranced by him, he knew that without smugness. But she would be much better off with some pious and stalwart knight. If he could manage to free her, and dispense with the evil incarnate that was her half brother, then he would willingly barter his own life. After all, he’d seen and experienced more in his thirty-four years than most men did in twice that time. If he had to die, he was willing that it be so. As long as Alys lived.

  Richard rode up beside him, all boisterous good will. “Shall we pass through the fair, or stop to enjoy ourselves, Grendel?” he demanded.

  He’d already made up his mind, of course, and his question was merely a taunt. But Simon had spent the last three years manipulating him, and he wasn’t about to stop when the stakes were so high.

  “I suggest we skirt the village,” he said.

  “I confess, that had been my original thought,” Richard observed. “Too much distraction for the guards, and we wouldn’t want Lady Alys to make a scene.”

  “Indeed. Though she could, of course, be silenced. And I doubt any of your men at arms would dare allow themselves to be lax in their duties.”

  “True enough. Then why don’t you think we should stop at the fair?”

  “The town of Watlington is known throughout the north of England as the birthplace of Thador the Magician.”

  “Thador? Never heard of him.”

  Since Simon had just created him that seemed logical. “He was the greatest wizard who ever lived, more miraculous than Merlin himself. Ballads are still sung of the wondrous things he did, and wizards and sorcerers from all over the world come to Watlington in hopes of impressing the people with their craft. Since the people are quite used to magic it requires a superior wizard indeed.”

  “Have you ever been here?” Richard eyed him curiously.

  “No, my lord. I have never felt the need to prove myself to a bunch of peasants.”

  “Of course not,” Richard agreed. “Nevertheless…”

  “Sire?”

  “You say this town is well-known throughout England as the home of wizardry?”

  “Throughout the Christian world, my lord.”

  “Then it would reflect very well on me if my personal wizard was proven to be a master at his craft.”

  He’d fallen for it, like a hungry carp for a fat worm. “My lord, I won’t stand in the town square and conduct a magic show to astonish and amaze the people of Watlington.”

  “You will, Grendel. If you value Lady Alys’s well-being.”

  “I have told you, my lord, I have no interest in what you do with Lady Alys, beyond a mild hope that she not suffer unduly,” he said in a bored voice. “And if you really intend me to do this, I suggest you ensure that she doesn’t escape while the villagers are distracted.”

  “Very wise, Grendel.” He glanced toward an ill-dressed servant who was hovering nearby. “You there. See that Lady Alys is bound and gagged for our trip through the market town. And make certain the cage is securely locked.”

  The servant nodded, bustling off toward the rolling prison, and Simon breathed a faint sigh of relief. Things were working well so far. He could only hope that Alys would recognize Sir Thomas’s blue eyes beneath the shabby disguise, of a servant and know that the binding would fall away with the right amount of effort.

  Ah, but Lady Alys was observant and brave. She was the least and the greatest of his worries.

  He turned to look at his liege lord, and his smile was wintry cold. “As my lord wishes,” he said.

  Richard de Lancie laughed. “That’s my Grendel.” And he spurred his horse down the steep hill toward the bustling town of Watlington.

  The stage was set. Thomas had done his work well - a word here, a word there, and the tow
nspeople were prepared, agog at the notion of a real live wizard in their midst. Lord Richard of Summersedge wouldn’t lower himself to talk with the local peasantry; he would never hear that Simon of Navarre was the first magician ever to stop in their ratty little market town.

  Braziers had been set at the four corners of the platform that had most recently held wrestling matches. The ropes had come down, and someone had managed to secure what doubtless passed for a decent chair here. At least they’d piled it with tattered velvet. Richard could watch the show in a manner befitting his station, on a makeshift throne.

  They shouted the wizard’s name as he and Richard rode through the surging crowds. Richard wouldn’t like that, but he smiled benevolently. “You’re popular already,” he murmured to Simon above the roar of the crowd. “Do not shame me in front of these good people.”

  Simon glanced at him with icy curiosity. “Good people?” he echoed.

  “They’ll be my people before long,” Richard said. “I want them to know I can control the powers of darkness. Fear is a wondrous motivator.”

  Simon could feel the icy trickles form in the pit of his stomach, something he hadn’t felt in more than a dozen years. He hadn’t cared enough about anything to feel fear. He felt it now.

  “You are very wise, my lord,” he said. An urchin appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the reins of his horse as he threw them down. Lady Claire was equally as filthy as her beloved, and well nigh unrecognizable in the boy’s garb she’d managed to filch. Only her beautiful eyes would give her away, and she was wise enough to keep them lowered.

  He mounted the stairs to the platform, keeping his right hand well-hidden in the folds of his long black tunic, and the crowd chanted his name. Not his name - they called “Grendel, Grendel, Grendel…” and he paused with a theatrical flourish, waiting for his lord to precede him.

  The carriage had halted by the corner of the platform, and someone had drawn the curtains. Alys sat in her prison with a cloth across her mouth, her hands bound tight in front of her, and he knew a moment’s panic. Had Thomas been able to do his part? If he’d failed, this would all be for nought.

  “My lord,” he said to Richard, gesturing to the throne-like chair. Richard seated himself, prepared to be entertained, and laughed heartily when Simon tossed back his left sleeve and presented him with a goblet of sweet red wine.

  It was a simple enough trick, but the crowd roared with approval, and Richard held up the goblet in an elaborate tribute before quaffing it.

  He drained the goblet. Simon watched him do it out of slitted eyes, and when Richard finished he smiled, cat-like.

  Richard was right about one thing—fear was a powerful motivator. The simple peasantry of Watlington knew their demons well. Simon moved to one brazier and sprinkled the first mix of herbs on the hot coals.

  The explosion was muffled, the red smoke billowing outward in thick, fat roils. “I call on Belial,” Simon intoned in his rich voice, “on the powers of darkness that fell from heaven, to aid my quest and do my bidding.”

  The townspeople gasped in horror at the demonic words, crossing themselves as they moved uneasily.

  He moved to the opposite brazier. This time the explosion was louder, the smoke deep blue, wafting over the crowd. “I call on Astaroth, ruler of western regions of hell,” he intoned, checking from beneath slitted eyes. His own horse had been tethered close to the stage, impervious to the smoke and noise, but the two by the wagon were moving restively. Everyone was too fixated on the wizard to wonder why two filthy creatures were standing ominously near the wagon with a pair of fine horses. Unfortunately, Alys was equally fixated, staring at him, making no effort to release her bindings. If she hadn’t recognized Thomas she might not even know that she could.

  He went to the third brazier, and the wagon was out of his view. It was the signal Thomas was waiting for, and there was nothing Simon could do to make certain she escaped.

  He stood over the brazier, sprinkling the dust that Godfrey had gathered, and green sparks began to shoot outward, like crazed fairies. “I call upon Amon, demon of the underworld, who sets all prisoners free.” He raised his voice to a shout, and opened his hand over the fire.

  The explosion rocked the stage. He staggered back, coughing, unable to see through the billowing smoke. There were shouts and cries from the crowd, screams of terror, yet he could do nothing but pray.

  He hadn’t asked a thing of a merciless God in over a decade. He asked now. “Save her,” he said.

  Richard hadn’t moved. He was sitting in his chair, stunned, and Simon had no idea whether the poison had done its work or not.

  He crossed to the brazier in front of Lord Richard. “I call on Fleurety, demon of poison herbs. Do my bidding!”

  He’d overestimated the amount needed for the final brazier, but in the end it didn’t matter. The final explosion was so powerful that the metal brazier split apart, sending shards of fire through the quickly scattering crowds. The smoke was thick and black and oily, and Richard rose to his feet, swaying, his pale eyes glazed.

  “I want a woman,” he said in a thick voice, oblivious to the chaos around him.

  “It’s been known to have that effect,” Simon replied.

  Richard’s eyes opened wide. “You bastard,” he said, drawing his sword and stumbling toward his sorcerer. He caught him in his burly grip, imprisoning Simon’s left hand, holding a knife at his throat. “What’s the antidote, Grendel?” he demanded hoarsely. “Tell me or I’ll cut your throat.”

  He couldn’t move his left hand—Richard had it imprisoned, and the bite of the knife was sharp against his skin. He couldn’t even turn to see if Alys had made it safely away.

  “There is no antidote,” he said, flexing his crippled right hand.

  “Damn it,” said Richard. “You’ve killed me.”

  “Not yet.” And lifting his right hand, he drove the knife into Richard the Fair’s black, dead heart.

  “Alys, come!” Thomas du Rhaymer’s voice was urgent, but she couldn’t move. The stage was covered with smoke, but somehow she could see the two men struggling and the flash of metal.

  Thomas flung the cage door open and reached in for her. She’d already managed to rip off her bonds, but she hadn’t realized the lock was broken. She should have known that Simon wouldn’t leave anything to chance.

  Thomas hauled her from the cage just as another explosion rocked the stage. She struggled against him, desperate. “I can’t, Thomas! I have to find him!”

  “It’s no good, my lady,” he shouted at her. “He’s done this much for you, let him be.” He scooped her up around the waist, ignoring her struggles.

  “He’ll kill him.”

  “Come.” He picked her up and carried her through the teeming crowd, and she might have been as insignificant as a feather, for all that her struggles affected him. Her sister was waiting at the edge of the rioting crowd, barely controlling her horses.

  “No,” Alys cried, as she realized how they expected to get her away from the town.

  “Yes,” said Sir Thomas, tossing her up onto the beast’s high back and following after her.

  Her struggles were panicking the horses, but she didn’t care. She screamed, fighting like a madwoman, determined not to leave Simon, but clearly Thomas had had enough. She never even saw the blow coming, only the merciful blackness that closed over her.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  There had been a time when returning to the Convent of Saint Anne the Demure had been all that Alys wanted. As they rode through the stone gate that surrounded the abbey she tried to summon up some pleasure, but her capacity for it was as dead as her heart. She simply lay back against Thomas du Rhaymer’s strong chest, imprisoned by his arms, astride the huge, monstrous horse that would likely trample her to death if Sir Thomas hadn’t been controlling the creature.

  She had gone beyond fear as well as hope. Even the sight of Sister Agnes’s plump, welcoming face was no comfort.

  T
hey helped her down from the back of the horse, and she went with them willingly enough, shuddering with stray relief to be away from the creature. A moment later Claire was beside her, drawing her into her arms, weeping with joy.

  “He’s dead, Alys!” she said triumphantly. “I saw him fall! He’ll never come near you again.”

  Alys froze in sudden despair. “You saw him? Are you certain?” If Simon was dead then she didn’t want to live. It was that sinful and that simple.

  “Without question. The blood was everywhere,” she announced in ghoulish delight.

  Alys swayed, feeling suddenly faint. “Who killed him?” she managed to gasp.

  “That creature you married,” Claire said in a disapproving voice.

  Alys looked up at her in shock. “Simon killed himself?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous! Simon killed Richard.”

  Alys, with true sisterly devotion, grabbed Claire by the tattered tunic and shook her. “I don’t care what happened to Richard!” she shouted furiously. “Where is Simon?”

  “My child.” Brother Jerome appeared out of the gathering darkness, gently removing Alys’s grip from her sister’s clothing. “No one knows what happened to him. Word has been flying through the kingdom. According to the witnesses, he disappeared in a puff of smoke.”

  “I believe it,” Claire said cynically, as Sister Agnes swiftly crossed herself to ward off a curse.

  “He couldn’t have,” Alys said flatly.

  “He did,” Brother Jerome assured her. “He’s gone back to the realms of darkness from whence he came. We won’t be seeing him again.”

  “He didn’t come from darkness,” Alys said in a cranky voice. “He’s as human as you or I.”

  “None of us has the ability to disappear at will. It is said that his withered hand miraculously healed itself at the last minute, and it was with it that he killed Lord Richard.”