Shadows in the Stone

by Diane Lynn McGyver

  Chapter 07

  Or Else What?

  Bronwyn stretched and yawned as he walked towards his quarters. He had sat awake all night watching over Alaura, Catriona and Isla. Under the circumstances, he thought it best to guard the room himself. The time had passed without incident, but he ached from sitting in the hard chair, watching and waiting.

  The women had talked little, unwilling to discuss anything of importance in front of him. It suited him fine, considering he didn’t have anything to say. As expected, the evening assault had caused them great distress. The prospect of sleeping in an unfamiliar bed while a male stranger watched over them didn’t help matters.

  The monkey had put to rest any fears it had about the bloody fight and settled with ease. When Bronwyn sat in a chair with it still in his arms, it curled into his neck and fell asleep. Although he offered to place it beside one of them, both women agreed it to be safer with him.

  She’s the one you’re protecting, Alaura had said. She covered the marmoset with a small blanket, kissed it and went to bed.

  Bronwyn’s discomfort at having a hairy creature sleeping on his chest passed, and he settled in for the night with the rhythm of its breathing counting away the seconds.

  Now with another guard watching the room as the women prepared for the early morning session, he had a few moments to freshen up and grab a snack.

  The appearance of Lady Dasia leaning against the wall as he rounded the corner to the military offices surprised him. The elf smiled as he approached.

  “My Lady, what can I do for you?” Her deep green eyes swept across his face. He hoped she didn’t want to discuss his embarrassing distraction at the meeting the night before. He wanted to forget about it; pretend it never happened.

  Lady Dasia placed her nimble hand upon his shoulder. “Do you have a minute?”

  “I do.” Bronwyn grew uncomfortable with her nearness but felt obligated to remain still. She measured six inches taller than he, putting him eye level with her slim neck and the plain, silver chain she wore. Lady Dasia, an elder lord, had served for almost as long as Lord Val. She tended to the basic needs of the citizens of Maskil. She visited them in their dwellings and shops and often strolled with one by her side.

  “Bronwyn, I see in you a spirit missing amongst the guards lately.” She took a step forward and positioned him between her and the wall. The light from the nearby window made the highlights in her mossy blonde hair shimmer. “Do you notice the disturbance in the energy, the unrest amongst those within the castle walls?”

  What energy? Bronwyn didn’t see unrest. “Could you be more specific?”

  “I sense an unbalance, a separation from the true ambition of our founders. Do you? Do you feel its pull on your spirit?”

  He shook his head. Her wide delicate ears pricked forward as if she listened for not only his words but the breath he drew.

  “It’s there. I feel it.” She looked down one hallway then the other before re-establishing eye contact. “It wishes to claim you as well, but…but you are different.”

  “I don’t feel threatened.”

  “And there lies the danger. No one feels the threat.” She gripped his shoulders and nudged him against the wall. “The castle has become stagnant. It resists change. Without change, there can be no growth. Beings cease to live, things cease to exist. Do you understand?”

  “No…yes…I don’t.” His mind raced to understand the confusing statements. How could a castle, a structure, become stagnant? It didn’t grow.

  Lady Dasia peered closer, gazing deep into his eyes. She traced his brow and jaw line with her long index finger. She seemed spellbound, weaving her way closer until he felt her breath upon his cheek. Her serene voice filled his ears, capturing his attention with every sound. “Bronwyn, you have much to give, yet you hoard it.”

  He swallowed hard and his breath became short. Her intimate stance made his pulse race and the heat grow around his neck. He had never before stood this close to Lady Dasia, nor to any other worthy woman. The scent radiating from her skin made him dizzy. What did she mean to accomplish by flaunting her charisma?

  “The influences in your life are unbalanced. You need others to help guide you.” She lowered her brow as if to chasten him. “You have distanced yourself from family, and you’ve avoided others for the potential complications they create.” Her jaw tilted, but her eyes remained fixed on his. “Alaura of Niamh is an enchanting creature, one capable of capturing the attention and admiration of the strongest of wills. Though many men try, only one will succeed in winning her loyalty. Her charms are seeded but need…nurturing.”

  Bronwyn cleared his throat and sought a fresh breath unburdened by the elf’s scent. “It’s best those in the service of the castle remain single.”

  Lady Dasia huffed. “That philosophy hasn’t served Zipporah Sanderson or the castle. It has only caused heartache for him and many others.”

  “Still, I’m not interested.” He looked away. “I prefer to be single.”

  “If your life doesn’t change there will be no growth.” She forced him to look at her. “Occasionally change is painful but what grows is fantastic. And at times, it is the smallest of beings which kindle new growth. Once it starts, there is no going back.”

  Bronwyn took a deep breath and tried to steady his nerves. He became claustrophobic with her closeness, pressing him against the wall, trapping him so he felt he couldn’t leave.

  “Embrace the change, Bronwyn. Great matters are not viewed as such at first. They can be elusive until the truth is revealed. You are a brave and honourable dwarf. I have faith in you.”

  “Does this have anything to do with last night?” He became exasperated and leant away to give himself breathing room. “I’m really confused if it isn’t.” But then again, he really didn’t know how it applied to the events of last evening either.

  Lady Dasia smiled. “It is about last night and what happened before then…and what will happen every day after this moment.” She released him and stepped away. “Do not let me down, Bronwyn Darrow, son of Maisie Kintale. Do not forsake those who need your protection most. There is no better reward than knowing you have done your best by them.”

  The space she put between them offered relief. “If I do my job, My Lady, then I protect our citizens. I hope I haven’t disappointed you with any shortcomings I may have.”

  “You have never disappointed me, nor do I believe you could.” She folded her arms and stared at him. “There are a few individuals who need your especial consideration.”

  Bronwyn felt she sized him up for a specific duty, but what could she ask of him?

  “Never believe a small task is not worthy of a great swordsman.” She turned and walked away.

  He watched her go, flabbergasted by her words. What did she want him to do? All the small tasks others ignored? But he didn’t see himself as a great swordsman though he strived to be one. He always protected those who needed protecting.

  With Lady Dasia’s conversation still fresh in his mind, he passed Sanderson’s office. Through the open door he saw the captain of the guard sitting at his desk.

  “Corporal!” Sanderson’s disgruntlement shot through the air. “I want a word with you.”

  The dwarf stopped and braced his tired body for the reprimand for last evening’s conduct. Turning, he made his way into the office.

  “Close the door.” Sanderson leant on his desk, a heavy piece of wood that supported his bulk, several stacks of paper, a few books, an oil lamp and writing utensils. His dark, bushy brows gave him a particularly haggard appearance this morning. With one large hand he brushed the greying hair from his forehead. “Sit.”

  Bronwyn obeyed.

  “Your conduct in the Private Audience room was inexcusable,” began Sanderson. “When a lord asks for information, your duty is to provide it without hesitation. Promises or no promises. And when the same lord turns down a request, you don’t make it again. Do I make myself clear, Corpora
l?”

  “Yes, sir.” He didn’t like protocol when it got in the way of getting things done, but kept this fact unspoken. “But there are exceptional circumstances—”

  “No buts!” Sanderson leant forward. “Understand this, Corporal, my guards stay in line or they find themselves planting potatoes with the soldiers. Is that what you want?”

  “No, sir.”

  Sanderson sat back in his chair. He rubbed his chin as he eyed the dwarf. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I’m going to make an exception this one time.” He tossed a small handbook onto Bronwyn’s lap. “Keep it. Commit it to memory.”

  The corporal read the cover: Protocol - The Foundation of Civil Organisation. He had read it several times and could recite most of it already. The handbook became mandatory reading for every soldier on entering the castle’s service. All copies had to be returned at the end of each day.

  Sanderson eyeballed the dwarf and spoke in a sombre tone. “Do you have any idea the number of corporals in service at the castle when I became a guard?”

  “No, sir.” Both the question and the unexpected change of subject confused Bronwyn.

  “Fifty.” Sanderson paused. “Do you know how many there are now?”

  “Twelve?”

  “Ten. Do you know why?”

  Bronwyn shook his head. “Why?”

  Sanderson looked around his office, taking in the sparsely decorated walls. For a moment, his thoughts consumed him. When he finally spoke his words sounded distant. “I don’t know.”

  This confused Bronwyn further. As captain of the guard, he should know.

  “Over the years, corporals died or retired. Guards weren’t promoted to fill the empty positions and eventually their numbers dwindled.” Sanderson ran his callused finger along the curve of the desk. “As captain of the guard, it’s my duty and pleasure to promote men worthy of a higher rank. Early in my career, I had the power to do so without question or authorization. I didn’t need the approval of the lords.”

  He sighed. “In the past fifteen or so years, it’s changed. I have dozens of men who deserve higher ranks, but none of them will see it. Corporal, do you have any idea how this affects command?”

  Bronwyn had an idea, but he remained silent.

  “I have ten corporals to command more than seven hundred privates. Pity help us if we come under serious attack.”

  Being new to his rank, Bronwyn hadn’t realised the state of the castle guards.

  Sanderson frowned. “Do you know why you received your promotion?”

  He swallowed hard. The answer didn’t appear to be one he wanted to hear.

  “I insisted. I thought of you as more worthy than any of the men who wore the uniform. I believed you had the leadership qualities and the skills to help me do my job and take care of my men. I badgered Lord Mulryan until he had to approve your promotion.” He looked at Bronwyn long and hard. “Did I make a mistake?”

  “No, sir!” Bronwyn sat straighter and spoke with confidence. “I’m sorry I let you down. It won’t happen again.”

  Sanderson leant back in his chair, resting his weary bones. “I’m not going to keep this post forever. I’ll need a good man to replace me, one who will follow protocol to the word but more importantly, take care of my men and this castle.”

  Does he mean him? Was Sanderson preparing him to be the future captain of the guard? Impossible!

  Sanderson chuckled in spite of his exhaustion. “You look surprised. You didn’t think I wanted Captain Tibbins to replace me? That nut doesn’t give a damn about my men or this castle. He sees only the power. He’s itched for years to take over this office, but I’m not leaving until I trust the person wearing this uniform will think of the men beneath him first.”

  Bronwyn breathed again. He never imagined Sanderson would mark him to be the next captain of the guard. “I’ll do my best to live up to your expectations, sir. I offer no excuses for my behaviour, but I’ll say this past week has been wearisome with many unexpected challenges.”

  “Every week will be similar from here on. It’s part of the process. Get used to it.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bronwyn paused before asking the next question but then realised only Sanderson could answer it. “Sir, about last night. Lord Val’s anger surprised me. Does he often lose his temper?”

  Sanderson shook his head. “It was indeed unexpected. He seems a bit agitated lately.”

  “What is the cause?”

  “I don’t know. I sense a force, but…” He stopped short of sharing his thoughts about the lord. “It’s not my place to judge.”

  “I thought it was.”

  Sanderson considered the comment but left it unanswered. “The meeting will begin soon.” He straightened his vest and picked up several papers. “It won’t take long to sort out this hauflin nonsense and send those women on their way.”

  Bronwyn stood and turned to leave.

  “Before you go.” Sanderson spoke in an even tone. “It’s wise not to clutter your mind with things which distract from duty.”

  “Yes, sir.” He had hoped to avoid a discussion about the confusion Alaura of Niamh had caused.

  “Don’t let women steal your senses like the half-breed did. When it comes to women, it’s better to bed ‘em and forget ‘em.” Sanderson let his gaze fall upon his bare hands. “Women and offspring get in the way of duty. If you want this office, avoid them as you would charging troglodytes.”

  “Yes, sir.” To reassure his superior, the guard added, “I have no intentions of uniting.” He had made the promise to himself many years ago on a starry night after the betrayal of a woman who he thought had loved him. Regardless of what Lady Dasia said, he’d keep the promise.