In The Shadow Of The Beast

by Harlan H Howard

  ‘Arook,’ exclaimed Nartaba in surprise, stepping back to allow the other man to approach more closely.

  He had appeared there behind the pair without either of them being aware of it. No small task considering the practiced hunters that he had surprised.

  ‘You know my thoughts on this matter. Why waste breath trying to convince you further?’ stated Bael flatly.

  ‘I have been thinking much the same. You were successful in the task I set you?’

  Bael gestured dismissively in the direction of the rest of the pack, who was now gathered about the trail overlooking the pass. Arook was careful to note the that their number had indeed swelled by one. Another figure sat between two large pack males, the collar of her cloak pulled high to fend off the biting mountain winds.

  He nodded to himself in satisfaction, ‘Excellent, our plan goes as it should.’

  ‘Our plan!?’ scoffed Bael, who made to push past the other two to make his way back toward the group.

  Arook snatched at Bael, catching his arm in a vice like grip and stopping him in his tracks. He sniffed at the air around Bael, like a creature that had suddenly caught a whiff of its prey on a gentle breeze, ‘you have the stink of fresh blood about you,’ he said.

  Nartaba shuffled uneasily on the spot, lowered his gaze so that he would not have to look Arook in the eye.

  ‘Your young progeny was not as alone as you’d predicted,’ snarled Bael, ‘I had no choice but to act.’

  Arook’s expression moved from shocked disbelief to thunderous rage in an instant.

  ‘It’s true’, offered Nartaba uncertainly, ‘there was another with the boy, he--’

  ‘Be silent’ growled Arook, who did not once take his eyes from Bael, ‘there was to be no killing,’ he said through teeth bared.

  ‘Then you should have taken the task upon yourself,’ said Bael, his own temper rising to the fore in a hot flush, ‘I have no tolerance for these vermin, and I do not share your reluctance to see them to their end.’

  Bael snatched his arm from the grip of the other man, his eyes blazing defiantly.

  ‘Your vanity will be the undoing of your place in this endeavor,’ said Arook.

  A thin smile creased Bael’s lips, his sharpened incisors glinting in the pale light of morning, ‘on that point father, we are in complete agreement.’

  Bael turned and trudged away down the trail followed by Nartaba, leaving Arook looking on after his son for long moments, a stain of dark concern growing in his heart for the course Bael seemed determined to take.

  The Regent’s anger swept before him like a storm front, its potency rocking the assembled nobles back on their heels. In one motion he swung his hand across the surface of the large oval table before him, sending clattering to the floor all manner of markers and trinkets designating the disposition of all his military might in the area and its relation to that other great house of the Morays.

  Small wooden figurines of horses and cavalrymen, archers and heavy cannon pattered noisily across the stone tiles in the wake of that furious gesture.

  ‘You let him go!’ barked The Regent.

  The nobles, dressed in the finest silks held together with the prettiest gold clasps that their considerable wealth could afford them, looked to the floor in the face of such admonishment.

  ‘You allowed my son to venture out alone into the madness beyond the walls!’

  The court paige had entered the war chamber, timidly approaching The Regent with news of his son’s disappearance. That timidity had been well considered. Upon hearing this news The Regent’s wrath had been immediate and undeniable, erupting before the eyes of the stupefied council.

  Everyone present knew that their regent was typically a man of considered bearing, and to see him in such a state spoke volumes about the depths of worry to which a father’s concern for his only son might drive a man.

  But it was not only the disappearance of Sigourd that had driven The Regent to distraction. The very summoning of this war council was attributable to the escalating tensions between the Fellhammers and the Morays, simmering for the last two years, it had now finally appeared to boil over into outright attack.

  The Regent had much to concern himself with of late. Did he dare keep his council any longer, should he sue for further peace, or would he attack?

  ‘Not only must I deal with the threat of war, hammering at our doors, but now I must contend with the idiocy of my own council!’

  The Lord of Corrinth Vardis glared at the nobles, not a single one of them daring to meet his gaze.

  ‘Illiath, your men were supposed to be keeping an eye on the boy. What in all the heavens happened to that!?’

  Red Major Davin Illiath was senior commander of the castle guard, and it fell to him to oversee the security of the castle at large. Illiath was a gaunt yet proud man. Dogged in his relentless pursuit of his duty to The Regent and the family Fellhammer. He was one of the most dependable soldiers in the realm, and this uncharacteristic lapse in castle security, both in terms of Sigourd’s disappearance and the detonation of the gunpowder stores was something that Illiath was at a loss to explain. The Red Major raised his head, his eyes fixed unflinchingly ahead in the face of The Regents tirade.

  ‘I have no excuses lord,’ said the old soldier, ‘I will accept whatever punishment you deem fit.’

  Credit to the old dog, he wasn’t afraid to admit when he’d slipped up, which in his defense was hardly ever. The Regent relented somewhat, acknowledging that despite his recent failings Illiath was still the best man to defend this city if such a time came.

  ‘Your punishment can wait while I think on it. In the meantime I want a coordinated effort put forth that will result in the return of my errant son. Take enough resources to get the job done without compromising our efforts to meet the Morays threat.’

  The nobles nodded and murmured their consent, uncertain as to weather or not their lord had no further need of them. They dawdled there a moment longer, before The Regent bellowed at them to go on and carry out his orders. heads bowed, they obediently filed out of the great war chamber.

  Only one noble remained standing in the room after all the others had left. Mortaron regarded his liege lord with a weary respect, bowing his head deferentially before approaching the oval table where The Regent stood studying the single artifact that remained there in the wake of his fury; a large map that showed with intricate clarity the lay of the various great nations and their disputed borders.

  ‘You have something to say, Vincenzo?’ asked The Regent without looking up from the map.

  ‘With respect lord, I would enquire as to our immediate plans concerning the Morays. You have readied our forces for war and shuffled deployment masterfully to counter any aggressive move on their part. But it appears as if you would have us wait?’

  ‘I would,’ stated The Regent. ‘I will not commit to war until I have proven beyond all doubt that the Morays are responsible for recent events here.’

  ‘But my lord, who but the insidious Morays would commit such unholy acts upon a neighbor in a time of peace?’

  ‘That is precisely what I require further clarification on before condemning our people to another decade of strife.’

  The Regent, still busying himself with the map spread before him did not happen to see the black shadow of resentment that fell across Mortaron’s face. For the briefest of moments it eclipsed his carefully managed veneer of deference, and then it was gone, the veneer firmly in place once more.

  The Baron bowed his head again, ‘of course my lord’ he said in a most conciliatory tone, and turned to leave the chamber. Closing the door gently behind him, his face once more returned to a mask of bitter resentment.

  The Regent, free from the scrutiny of his assembled nobles, placed his hands on the table top and hung his head, his shoulders suddenly sagging beneath the weight of the concern that bore down relentlessly upon him. To the members of council, he must appear to be a man of stone, furi
ous and resolute in the face of this latest threat. But the reality was that he had grown weary of the mantle, and only wished that he could see Sigourd returned safely to his home, the threat to the realm be damned. It was a brief moment of respite from the pretenses that were such a part of leadership, and he allowed himself to wallow in his uncertainty, if only for a moment.

  CHAPTER 8

  Mother’s woe…

  ...he dares not look back at the nameless pursuer, for to do so would mean his end. But his fear is matched by a burning curiosity, and it is all he can do not to stop and turn.

  He’s lost now, amongst the gnarled and twisted trunks of the dense forest, running with reckless abandon for his life.

  Eyes in the dark. Dozens of pairs of eyes in the dark flitting between those gnarled trees on that desolate plain they seemed to move with him, tracking him through the ancient forest. Golden orbs slit with a sliver of black that watch him unblinking from the deep shadows of that forbidden place, markers of menace that glitter like jewels suspended in the threatening murk.

  They watch him with keen interest as he is hunted, silent witnesses to a terror stricken flight through that hateful place.

  The nameless pursuer is gaining, so inhumanly quickly it beggars belief. A monstrous, looming absence of light that glides over the landscape like the promise of agonizing death, it is almost upon him, it reaches out a taloned hand to drive razor claws upon his flesh, so close now that he can feel the hot stink of it foul breath washing over him...

  From somewhere beyond the forest, a cry goes up, as of wolves howling. First one and then more as others join the chorus. The cry is ululating, tortuously long. It floats up into the churning maelstrom of the blood red sky, where a full moon glows sickly.

  The hot fetid breath all about him, the talons so close, so close...

  Sigourd awoke from the nightmare with a start, his breathing coming hard and fast in shallow gasps. He looked about himself in panic, but there was no sign of the creature from his nightmare or those invasive pairs of golden eyes.

  To his relief, instead of being greeted with the horrors of that sleep time wasteland, Sigourd was met with the soft singing of the birds in the trees and golden sunlight that filtered down though the canopy above in lances of brilliant light so pure it hurt his sleepy eyes to look upon them. Dust motes and tiny insects floated lazily in that magnificent light, and a sense of such serenity the likes of which Sigourd had never known soon descended upon him.

  But the nightmares were increasing in both frequency and intensity. This last one had seemed so real that Sigourd had truly felt the cold hand of the reaper upon his shoulder, convinced, even upon waking that his brutal end was at hand. Every facet of the dreams was enhanced. The colors, the smells, the fear. Each new nightmare revealed another layer to a terrible mystery that was steadily unfolding.

  Sigourd took a deep breath to steady himself, to absorb some of the stillness around him so that it might ease his troubled imagination. In the here and now at least, he appeared to be safe.

  The Velvet Forests were a collection of vast woodland that lay roughly fifteen miles from the south east borders of Corrinth Vardis. Sigourd had traveled all through the night across the flatland, unwilling to stop until he had reached an area that would afford him some cover while he rested. Arriving at the forest boundary, he’d made his way as deep as he thought was prudent into the forest proper, until he’d found a spot that offered the sort of hiding place he was looking for.

  He hadn’t seen anyone else at all while on the road. but he had been careful to avoid dwellings he’d come across for fear that the inhabitants might point the way he had come to any search parties sent from the city on behalf of his father.

  He wondered what was happening in the castle at that very moment. He knew that his parents would be beside themselves with worry, but that was something he wouldn’t let dissuade him from the course he’d chosen.

  Above him, chirruping in the branches of a thick oak was the little nightingale, his only companion on a journey of uncertainty. The knowledge that he was able to share the road with another, even a traveling companion as unusual as a bird, filled Sigourd with a measure of small comfort. He gathered up his belongings, and continued on into the quiet of the old forest.

  Veronique sat before the looking glass combing her long hair, staring into her reflection as it stared back into her. Her movements were almost trance like as she moved the spines of the brush slowly down the length of spun gold that flowed from her head, her mind somewhere else entirely.

  She was of course thinking deeply on the whereabouts of Sigourd.

  She should have taken more care to ensure that he was closely watched. Since the arrival of the stranger at court, nothing had been right.

  Now that Sigourd was gone to look for the girl, that stranger would be free to intercept him at any point, naked as he now was against this unexpected threat.

  Never mind marauders and wild beasts and the multitudinous other dangers that were out there beyond the walls, Sigourd was being stalked by something far greater than the sum of all those other concerns.

  Worst of all, he didn’t even know it.

  Veronique cursed her weakness, cursed the incapacitating fear of exposure that had dogged her all these long years. Her terror at having her great and secret shame, a shame she shared with her dear loathsome brother, was a least partly responsible for the danger that Sigourd now found himself in. Yet even now she found she did not have the courage to speak up. To come forward with the information she knew might make all the difference to weather Sigourd was returned safely home or would meet a more unfortunate end. She had lived with this lie so long that to tug upon its withered ends now would see the entire tapestry of not only her life, but the lives of those she loved come undone. The secret was so much a part of her identity that Veronique couldn’t possibly imagine life without its dark presence. It had come to define her.

  ‘I couldn’t have asked for a more pleasing site upon waking from a troubled sleep,’ said The Regent from across the room.

  He had stirred to wakefulness while Veronique had been distracted with her dark thoughts, and now sat upright in the bed they shared, watching his wife affectionately from across the room.

  ‘You’re up early, my love,’ he said.

  ‘I couldn’t sleep for worry about our son. I didn’t want to wake you,’ said Veronique.

  The Regent threw back the covers and swung his legs out of the bed. Wincing at the cold tiles upon his bare feet he made his way over to where Veronique sat, leaned in to kiss her gently upon the cheek.

  ‘Sigourd is young and strong, and well schooled. He’ll be fine out there,’ said The Regent, ‘besides, I have men scouring the lands for him.We will pick him up soon enough, and then he’ll have to answer to me for worrying his mother so.’

  Veronique smiled and lowered the brush to rest her head against her husband.

  ‘What news of the Morays?’ she said.

  ‘I’ve taken measure to secure our borders. The nobles are clamoring for war, your brother of course is loudest amongst them.’

  ‘My brother seeks to serve only his own ends.’

  The Regent smiled without mirth, ‘Of that there has never been any doubt. But I cannot ignore the threat that the Morays present.’

  ‘But can you be sure it is them?’ asked Veronique, ‘If war was their objective wouldn’t they bring it into the open, make their intentions plain to see?’

  ‘To do so would be to breach the terms of the charters, and possibly isolate them from the other great houses. They would very quickly find themselves alone, and surrounded on all sides by enemies.’

  The Regent sighed deeply, ‘It is far more likely that they are attempting to goad me into an attack, which would isolate Corrinth Vardis and bring supporters amongst the houses to their banner. I will have to bring their deception into the light on my terms before this war can begin.’

  Veronique looked up at her h
usband, her eyes brimming with tears, ‘And what of your son? Surely finding him must come first? ’

  ‘Protecting our realm comes first, Sigourd understands that and so do you.’

  ‘You cannot prosecute this war before Sigourd is returned to us. If conflict starts then the borders will be sealed, our enemies will be everywhere and the chances of him returning to us safely will dwindle to nothing.’

  The Regent was quiet a moment, contemplating the wisdom of his wife’s observation.

  ‘The realm must come first, my love,’ he said finally, reaching down to turn her face toward his. He met her sorrowful gaze, looking deep into her eyes that she might draw on the strength he hoped she saw there. For the life of him The Regent was hard pressed to draw on what meager reserves he had for himself.

  Veronique saw the weariness in the eyes of her husband, and dared not let him see that she recognized his fatigue. Now was a time to bolster each other, not to act as a lead weight of worry around the neck of the man she loved.

  She nodded in understanding, ‘Perhaps events will run their course to our favor. There’s many a slip twixt a cup and a lip.’

  The Regent smiled benignly, stroking gently the side of Veronique’s face, ‘Ah to be possessed of such optimism. It can only be the mark of someone blessed with innocence when it comes to the dark matters of deceit written in men’s hearts.’

  Veronique turned so that her husband might cradle her weary head, and also so that he would not see the troubling look upon her face, which would indicate to him that she did indeed understand that deceit only too well.

  CHAPTER 9

  The wild man...